30 Meetings
by Liete
Summary: -US/UK/US, AU- Thirty stories, thirty different meetings.
1. The Diner on the Corner

**30 Meetings**

**Story One: The Diner on the Corner  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: This is the first of what will be 30 short, non-related stories about how Alfred and Arthur meet. Some will be more romantic than others.  
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Arthur was supposed to escape the endless rain by moving to New York. Since his arrival the week before, it had been raining everyday. All day. He wanted to blame it on his ex, the one he'd left behind in England, but it's ridiculous to blame the weather on one person. An end to a relationship doesn't make the rain fall.

He woke up too early that morning, having forgotten to set his clock back an hour the night before, and only realized when he was in the subway and his train was not due for an hour and half rather than just half an hour.

There was a diner on a corner just outside the subway exit, and, since he hadn't even had his usual cup of tea and crumpet before he'd run out into the rain, he decided that sitting in a diner instead of waiting in the cold of the subway was more appealing.

The diner was mostly empty, but the few patrons inside didn't even glance up to see who walked in when the bells above the door announced the entrance of a new person. They're too wrapped up in their own lives, their own problems, not wanting to invite in a new distraction. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing large drops of rain from the strands (he had yet to buy a new umbrella), and slid onto a stool at the counter. A young, distracted looking man took his order (Earl Grey), and left Arthur to his own devices.

A man was sitting on a stool near him arguing sales with someone on his mobile. A frazzled woman ignored her screaming child while she tended to her baby instead at a table nearby. A young couple made eyes at each other, sharing the same glass of orange juice in a booth in the corner. They cared not for the heartbroken Englishman with whom they shared the same space.

The young man returned and haphazardly placed a cup of coffee, coffee, not tea, in front of Arthur and walked away.

"Excuse me! I asked for tea, not-" he started, but decided against pursuing it further when he realized that the man was too busy flirting with an attractive woman who had just entered and walked up to the other end of the counter. He could rave and scream and get his way, but he'd rather be a gentleman. It was too early to be arguing.

He was sick of arguing.

Arthur sighed and retrieved a few cups of creamer, placing the proper amount of money on the counter, and relocated to a booth by the large windows. Even with all the creamer, the coffee was still bitter. Americans. But the warmth and caffeine were a comfort anyway. There was a newspaper on the table, and Arthur briefly skimmed it before he stopped and abandoned the idea as a depressing one. Murder, rape, murder, theft, fire, murder. No one cared about good news, it was others' misery they wanted to read about. Better to stew in his own misery with his dreadful cup of American coffee than to take comfort in the misfortunes of others, knowing his life wasn't as bad as theirs.

His heart skipped a beat when someone stopped outside the windows where he was sitting. That coat was just like his ex's. But looking up, it was not his ex. Just a woman checking her hair and makeup in the reflection she likely sees in the large windows. Arthur sighed, chastising himself for getting hopeful over someone he never wanted to see again.

In that time, another person had entered the diner, but the patrons looked up when this person spoke. He greeted them all individually, quelled the fussing of the screaming child, and they all greet him by name. Alfred. He turned to Arthur and paused. Arthur blushed slightly and stared pointedly at the rain that was now coming down in torrents. When there was no greeting for him, Arthur looked up to see Alfred talking with the young man behind the counter, gesturing in the direction of Arthur's booth. The young man shrugged and nodded meaningfully in the direction of the attractive woman eating a piece of toast. Alfred laughed and shoved his hands into his pockets, turning to walk in Arthur's direction.

Arthur panicked and downed what was left of the coffee, intending to leave at that instant, but Alfred slid into the booth across from him and smiled brightly.

"Never seen you around here before. What's your name?" Alfred asked with genuine curiosity, not just feigned interest for the sake of politeness.

Arthur regarded the man for a moment. Blond hair, a strong frame, but bad posture. Ill fitting jeans, unzipped hooded sweatshirt over a white undershirt, wire frames in front of the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Good looking, but sloppy. Not his type.

"I'm afraid I have a train to catch," Arthur clipped shortly and stood up. He hadn't wanted to be noticed that morning, not really. He was happy in his solitude, in being just another face in the crowd. Not mattering to anyone, not to the general public, not to his ex.

"Are you gonna be here tomorrow morning then? I'll come earlier!" Alfred asked just as genuinely and stood as well.

Arthur sighed and checked his watch. He still had at least forty five minutes before his train was due. He _could_ stay and chat, but he was tired of getting his hopes up and trusting in the integrity of people who always let him down. He turned to find the American smiling expectantly.

"If the sun comes out, I'll be here," he said shortly. The forecast promised rain for the entire week, so he knew that he wouldn't be coming back. Surely Alfred would realize that he was being sarcastic and back off.

"Awesome! I'll be here waiting then!" He looked so genuinely pleased that Arthur felt a little guilty that it would be raining the next day and Alfred would be waiting for someone who would never show. But if he didn't know that life was full of disappointments, he'd learn then.

The following morning, brilliant, near blinding sunshine poured in through the uncovered windows, rousing Arthur from sleep before his alarm went off.


	2. I've Just Seen a Face

**30 Meetings**

**Story Two: I've Just Seen a Face  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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There were no suddenly appearing birds or stars falling from the sky when he first laid eyes on him, but Alfred knew that he had just seen the person he was meant to be with just the same. The first time had been a bit of an accident. He'd been running late to get to class and thus had been sprinting through the crowds of people on the sidewalk, and then he'd seen him. A blond in a fancy, obviously expensive suit with an equally expensive briefcase yelling at someone on an expensive phone in a thick British accent, eyebrows large, but fitting. He was perfect. But by the time Alfred's thoughts had caught up to him, the man was long gone and he was most certainly going to be late to class. He hadn't been able to concentrate anyway.

The second time had been when he was on the bus. It had stopped at a light, right next to one of those indie coffee and tea places that he usually didn't pay any attention to. But that day sitting near one of the windows and delicately nursing a teacup was the man. Alfred gaped and tried to get off, but the driver refused; it wasn't a designated stop, he said. By the time he'd gotten off and ran back to the shop, the man was gone. Alfred made it a point to stop by everyday around the same time if he could help it.

The third and fourth times were at the local record store. The first occurrence Alfred happened to see him inside the store, but was once again too late getting inside before the man had left the store and disappeared into the crowd. The second occurrence was a breakthrough.

He'd been in the store looking for an old vinyl for a project, and then he looked up and there was the man across from him. His breath hitched and though he wanted to speak, he'd lost all ability to do so. The man looked up, right at him, and Alfred's heart skipped a beat. The man's eyes were green. Oh so very green, like a forest or something equally poetic. Alfred was blatantly staring and the man gave him an annoyed look before he left with the vinyl he'd picked out. Alfred was left gaping like a fish.

"He's freaking amazing, and I keep seeing him everywhere. Like it's destiny or something, you know?" Alfred confided to his brother, who sighed mournfully, far too used to his brother's antics to even feign interest anymore.

"I know you're lonely and all, Al, but this is a little too much, don't you think? Dreaming up some guy?"

"I'm not going crazy, Mattie! He's real, and I'll prove it to you!"

"He might not even like men, you know," Matthew pointed out, though he knew it was a moot point and Alfred would carry on anyway.

"Psssh, everyone likes me! It won't be a problem!"

Alfred continued to see the man everywhere, but he was always a second too late. He just built up his resolve that he was going to introduce himself if it killed him. With the way he was running out into traffic to try to cross the street to reach the man, and other such reckless things, he was on the road to a self fulfilling prophecy.

Then one day the chance came. He was leaving the indie coffee shop when he saw the man entering the subway. Alfred didn't hesitate and pushed roughly past people, nearly falling down the stairs as he barreled down into the subway. He whipped his head back and forth, looking for him desperately, until he saw the shaggy head of blond hair he'd come to know so well and he was off running again. Luckily he had a pass, because he probably would have just ignored the need for a ticket otherwise as he followed the man.

Once again, he was too late, and the train doors closed before Alfred could run in and join the man standing next to the doors. The train slowly started to pull away and the man turned and saw Alfred standing there. His green eyes widened in recognition. Alfred, in a fit of desperation, tore a sheet of paper out of one of his notebooks and furiously scribbled a message on it. He held it up as he jogged alongside the train that was steadily picking up speed.

_My name is Alfred._

The man raised one of his impressively sized eyebrows as Alfred ran desperately beside the train, dodging people and giving the man a meaningful, pleading look. Pretty soon he'd crash into the wall. He must have looked insane, but this was destiny, and destiny didn't care if it looked ridiculous.

The man seemed to sigh impatiently and he fished around in the briefcase he was carrying. Alfred's eyes flicked back in front of him to make sure he had enough room to run, and that he wasn't about to collide into either the wall or another person. When he looked back through the window of the train, the man was smirking and holding up his own sheet of paper.

_My name is Arthur._

Alfred gasped and skidded to a halt just before he slammed into the wall and then all he could do was watch as the train sped away. When the lights faded into nothing in the tunnel, Alfred threw his fist into the air and laughed triumphantly, his smile was so wide his skin would probably crack.

"Arthur…" he murmured as he shoved his hands into his pockets and practically skipped his way out of the subway.


	3. The Edelstein Cave

**30 Meetings**

**Story Three: The Edelstein Cave  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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There was an old cave on the very edge of the Edelstein property that used to be popular among the young folks for being a place to prove yourself as a man. It was actually a tradition that started with _Mrs._ Edelstein (although she wasn't a missus at that point) when she marched fearlessly into the cave and stayed there for days. No self respecting manly man was going to let himself be shown up by a _girl_, so naturally staying in that cave became a test of manhood. The test just became a little more creative over the years.

There was a teenager I used to spend most of my time with in those days, a "no good scoundrel" Mama would always say, and he definitely was an uncouth individual. He had no friends except a couple of other equally uncouth boys who I never really got to know all that well. Francis and Antonio or something. They were "'that way' if you know what I mean" the corner shop owner would tell me. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. I didn't know what he meant, but I nodded knowingly all the same. But whatever the teen was, he was the one whose shadow I followed dutifully.

I called him Gilbo.

Everyone thought it odd that I spent so much time around him after he was the one to lock me overnight in the Vargas crypt (thus sealing my _very secret_ fear of just about anything that is meant to be scary) and passed along the story about the dream I'd had. You know, the one where you're in your underwear in front of your classmates? I'd had that one, only the teacher I'd been carrying a torch for for years, Miss Braginski, was also there. I was never able to look her in the eye ever again after that.

But anyway, Gilbo. He was a jerk and treated me terribly, but we had an understanding, him and I. Sometimes in life there are people who are just so amazing, they must be revered and band together if possible. Also, he just liked having someone to pick on. He had a brother my age, but he was too serious to have any sort of fun with.

This story actually isn't about Gilbo, although it originated with him. He was always saying how I could be the Robin to his Batman (even though I preferred Spider-Man) if I was a little tougher. So he was going to test my manhood in the Edelstein cave.

By the time it came my turn to test myself in that cave, the rumor had spread that a murderer used to take his victims inside and kill them brutally there until finally he was caught and killed in the same place he'd taken the lives of his victims. So the story went that the ghost of the murderer still haunted the dank passages, just looking for some fool wandering too far from the light that he could kill in the way he'd done so many times before in life.

I knew Gilbo was thinking he could use those buddies of his to scare me and get a good laugh out of the whole ordeal, I'd told him about how sometimes I'd hear the ghost of old man Rome singing a sad song late at night after my night in the Vargas crypt (and to this day I still swear I hear him sometimes), after all. But I was determined to one-up him that time and go to the cave of my own volition. The test was simple. You went inside the cave and retrieved a bone from deep in its depths. They were very distinct bones, most certainly human-looking, which had fueled the stories of the murderer using the cave to commit his crimes.

So one morning I woke up extra early, before the sun was even up, and stole Dad's flashlight and then I set out for the Edelstein mansion.

There was a teenager smoking on one of the rocks outside the mouth of the cave when I got there and I couldn't help but be a little miffed. He was scrawny, but rough-looking, like he got into fights all the time, and he had eyebrows so big I would have sworn that giant, furry caterpillars had taken up permanent residence on his face, especially since he was scowling so deeply his brows were contracted into one large, fuzzy mass.

"Hey, kid! What the hell are you doing here?" I called out to him, as though I was afraid of things that didn't really exist, I had no fear of things that were a reality back then, most certainly not a caterpillar faced teenager.

The teen looked up at me and he flicked the cigarette in my direction. I stepped out of the way before it hit me. "I _was_ enjoying the peace and quiet until you showed up, brat."

He had an accent, and for a few moments I just stood there and tried to remember what Dad called those types.

"Go away, limey!" I shouted, although I had no idea what it meant. I just remembered Dad saying something about those "fucking limeys" when Mama brought home a Beatles album.

"Sod off, yank," the teen replied and I had no idea what he meant either, but his tone infuriated me all the same. I probably could have whipped him, he was tiny for a teenager, but I was on a mission. I put on my best tough guy face and marched towards the cave entrance past caterpillar face. Staring into the foreboding darkness, however, I had to pause.

"What's the matter, brat? Are you scared?" Caterpillar face asked with a smirk as he jumped off his rock and approached me.

I bristled and puffed out my chest. "I ain't scared a'nothing!"

My voice didn't even quiver that time, since Mattie (my little brother) always said my voice quivered when I was scared and pretending not to be, so I felt confident that my manhood would be asserted for sure.

"Go on then," he said and waited expectantly. I took a deep breath, clicked on Dad's flashlight, and ran into the cave. Caterpillar face followed and I whipped around to glare at him. He squinted when I pointed the flashlight in his eyes.

"What're you doing following me?!" I shouted angrily and I started to wonder if he was in cahoots with Gilbo and his friends. Maybe Gilbo had found out about my plans and had sent the caterpillar to scare me.

Caterpillar shrugged and walked coolly ahead of me. "Right now I don't have anything better to do. I'm curious what a brat like you is doing in here."

"I'm not a brat!" But secretly I was glad for the company, even if he'd turn on me later and Gilbo would jump out and laugh at me for falling for such a trick. We delved deeper and deeper into the cave, leaving the light of the rising sun behind us and soon the only light was the dull beam from Dad's flashlight. Caterpillar was quiet, and so was I, so I could hear water dripping from the ceiling of the cave, and the crunch of the earth beneath us.

Abruptly I heard something fall and the crash echoed deep in the cave, and I jumped and grabbed at caterpillar's hand. He jumped as well at the contact. I pointed Dad's flashlight in his face and even in the darkness I could see how red his face was. It made me wonder if he was like me. Tough on the outside, but really scared on the inside. I didn't ask, but it made me feel better that even the older tough guys could be scared sometimes.

Luckily the cave only had one passage, at least for the time caterpillar and I were in there, so it was a matter of walking deeper and deeper, until the air started to get stale and I started to wish that caterpillar would say something instead of walking quietly beside me. I still hadn't let go of his hand, and he hadn't made any move to jerk it away, either.

Finally, with a gasp, caterpillar and I fell into a pit of bones. Real bones, what I figured at the time to be hundreds of them (but it was probably only a few dozen, thinking back).

"What the bloody hell is this?!" Caterpillar asked, and the sound of his voice startled me so much I dropped Dad's flashlight and it went rolling deep into the pile of bones. I swore and started throwing bones aside in a vain attempt to retrieve the flashlight. The more I moved, the more seemed to replace the ones I'd gotten rid of.

"Look what you did, you fucking limey!" I shouted, and knew that Mama would wash my mouth out with soap if she could hear me.

"What _I_ did?! You're the one who dropped it!"

"Just shut up and help me get it!"

Caterpillar joined me, saying more things I didn't understand with that weird accent of his, in trying to move the bones aside while the flashlight seemed to sink further and further away.

It was when I tried to reach my small hand through a hole caterpillar and I had managed to create that the air suddenly went cold. Icily cold like I'd fallen through the ice into the lake again. I froze and I felt caterpillar go stiff as well, causing the bones we'd moved aside fell into place around my arm. I trembled violently as I slowly lifted my head, morbid curiosity getting the best of my common sense.

Then I saw it, a ghostly face floating clearly in the gloom of the cave. A specter that even my worst nightmares couldn't create.

I screamed and then caterpillar screamed as well and though I tried to run, my arm was trapped in a makeshift vice of bones. Caterpillar started to run, but when he saw that I was stuck, he grabbed me around the waist and yanked me out of the pit. Then we ran, screaming, back the way we came. Through the darkness, tripping and scraping against the walls, and finally into what was by then the brilliant sunshine of a new day. I collapsed on the grass nearby and panted.

To this day I'm not sure what was in the cave, and I didn't care to find out, even after Gilbo approached me with his intent to test my manhood. I'd have to prove myself in various other ways over the years, but I never went back into the Edelstein cave.

But some good had come out of the experience. While I lay catching my breath on the grass, caterpillar tore up his shirt and wrapped the fabric gently around my arm, which I hadn't noticed was bleeding. I looked at him and he looked at me, and we made a silent agreement not to speak of what had happened ever again.

He sat on the grass next to me and pulled out another cigarette, which he lit up with trembling fingers. Once again I felt a little better just knowing that I hadn't been the only one who was frightened.

"My name's Alfred, but you should call me Al, kid!" I finally perked up, and caterpillar raised one of those bushy eyebrows of his in amusement and curiosity.

"My name is Arthur, but if you give me any nicknames, I'll make you regret it, brat," he replied easily, his own nerves apparently calmed. I beamed.

"Artie then!" I declared proudly and grinned smartly at him. He pulled his cigarette out of his mouth, and for a moment I thought he'd shove the burning end into my arm like Gilbo had once done (I still have the scar), but instead he just shook his head. I could see the makings of a smile on the corners of his mouth and I smiled wider.

All in all, it had been a good day.


	4. Captain Kirkland

**30 Meetings**

**Story Four: Captain Kirkland  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Alfred awoke to a haze of pain and fatigue, his head felt like it had been blasted with one too many canons. He tried to reach up a hand to clutch at it, but found that he couldn't move his arms. His eyes abruptly shot open and he found himself on a ship that most assuredly wasn't the one he'd departed on. Not just that, but he was tied to the mast.

He wracked his fuzzy brain, trying to recall the events that had transpired, when the appearance of some scruffy men--pirates, he realized--made everything that had happened come crashing back to him in a sudden, painful wave.

There had been a storm that tossed the little ship back and forth between monstrous waves and left the crew waterlogged and weary. Then, when the clouds broke and relief seemed near, it had appeared. Skull and crossbones, a Jolly Roger, approaching at a dangerous speed. Alfred had fought valiantly when the pirates attacked despite how tired he was, but in the end, he'd come face to face with the person who must have been the captain, and then everything had gone dark.

"Well, look who decided to wake up!" one of the pirates razzed, bringing Alfred back to the horrifying present. The ugly lout approached slowly, a lecherous look in his eyes, when another pirate unsheathed his sword and held it to the other man's throat.

"Stop, you cur! You remember what the captain said!" he hissed. The first pirate growled irritably, but backed off. The second gave Alfred a small, dangerous smile. "Captain Kirkland will be happy to hear about this."

They both stalked off, leaving Alfred to struggle against the ropes that bound him. Had he not been so famished and fatigued, he would have been able to break through them easily. He'd practiced it enough times that he was a master, just so he'd be ready in the event of a pirate attack. Of course the one time they were actually attacked by pirates, he'd be too weakened to put his skill to use. Regardless, he continued to struggle until a throat being cleared made him freeze in place.

It was him, the captain. Captain Kirkland, terror of the seas. A ruthless pirate who knew no fear and flaunted it, pillaging ships, killing the crew and then sinking the ship when he was done. The man himself was rather small in stature, but his presence was anything but. He stood with his hand on his hip, holding himself tall with his chin raised. His clothes were magnificent, topped with a flamboyant, feathered hat. One of his eyes was covered with a patch, but his gaze was piercing and intimidating regardless. Alfred gulped and realized that he was probably the only one left of the original crew he'd been traveling with.

Kirkland's gaze swept over Alfred, as if he was appraising a piece of treasure instead of regarding a prisoner. Alfred stayed frozen in place, fearing what would happen if he moved. Finally, the pirate smirked and approached.

"You _are _indeed even more splendid when you are awake, aren't you?" he murmured in a low tone. He took Alfred's chin in his hand and turned his head back and forth. Alfred attempted to bite his hand and he just smiled as he pulled away. "If I could take your eyes as treasure…"

"Why don't you, you filthy pirate? What have you done with my crewmates?!" Alfred spat out, frustrated that he was reduced to being helplessly handled by a pirate. His breath hitched as a beautifully decorated knife was suddenly at his throat.

"Captain Kirkland takes no prisoners," Kirkland drawled in reply, his smirk widening. Alfred didn't need any more explanation. They were dead. Gone. He was all alone. "Tell me, what is your name?"

"I don't need to tell you anything, you disgusting-" he stopped talking when the blade was pushed against his skin.

"I like your spirit, lad, but you're in no position to talk back. Your name, please."

Alfred clamped his mouth shut and didn't shy away from Kirkland's piercing gaze. He would rather die than cooperate--he wasn't afraid of death. He was prepared for it. He thought of his sweetheart back home, who would worry when he never returned, and he hoped that she would find another man who would treat her right.

"No? Ah, it's no matter…"

Alfred blinked when the blade was pulled away and Kirkland's eyes took on the lecherous nature that had been in his underling's eyes before. Alfred gasped when the man's hand was suddenly in his pants, sending traitorous jolts of pleasure through him.

"Now then, what is your name?" Kirkland cooed in a silky, smooth voice that would have almost been soothing if Alfred hadn't been at his mercy and at risk of death by his very hands.

Alfred writhed and panted, cursing his body for reacting so strongly, but he refused to relent. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on the beautiful lands of his home, his sweetheart waiting for him, his brother and friends, and not the skillful fingers fondling him with easy, teasing strokes. Death he could handle, but this..? This was humiliation of the ultimate degree.

"Your name," Kirkland repeated against his throat, where he was sucking the skin and making Alfred keen. Alfred continued to stubbornly keep his mouth shut, but then Kirkland bit down on the junction of his neck and shoulders and Alfred abruptly snapped.

"Alfred--Alfred!!" he gasped.

Kirkland pulled his head away to look Alfred in the eye, while Alfred writhed against his bindings, now desperate for release, and then the pirate's smirk took on a dangerous level that hadn't been there before.

"Alfred…" he murmured appreciatively and withdrew his hand. "Simply splendid."

Alfred whined as the pirate turned and left him where he was, completely frustrated, both because he was most certainly going to die eventually, and more specifically, because he was so painfully aroused that he screamed in frustration when the pirate disappeared into his cabin and left Alfred with no hope of relief.

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**A/N: I just want to forewarn you, as well, that not all of these stories will be happy ones. So please don't hurt me when I post a not-happy story. orz**


	5. The Most Beautiful Sound I Ever Heard

**30 Meetings**

**Story Five: The Most Beautiful Sound I Ever Heard  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Matt really had a bad habit of disappearing at the worst possible times. Alfred sighed as he entered the gym and scoured the crowd of dancers for his best friend and would be brother, but found no trace of the mousy blond. He wasn't even sure why he agreed to show up; he'd long since abandoned the lifestyle Matt was trying to drag him back into. Gangs and rumbles, fights and turf wars. He preferred the honest life he'd chosen instead, working for a living, not getting into trouble, making his poor troubled mother proud instead of worried.

But Matt was also really good at passive aggressive guilt trips and, because Alfred had also woken up feeling like something really amazing and life changing was going to happen that day, he'd agreed to come to the dance. He was supposed to issue a rumble challenge to Matt's rivals, but first he had to find the boy himself.

Alfred scanned the crowd as he pushed away from the doors, and saw Matt's gang buddies. Francis, Gilbert, Vash and others. That girl who was always hanging around and trying to join the gang was there, too. Elizaveta. She was arguing with Gilbert, or maybe they were dancing, Alfred could never tell with those two.

He saw the ones he'd be challenging, too. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo and his ragtag gang, a couple Italians and a German, among others, though he didn't know their names. Technically he wasn't supposed to care. If it wasn't for Matt's insistence that they were the enemy and had to be put in their place, Alfred wouldn't have minded befriending them. They were probably good guys.

Alfred walked along the perimeter of the gym, still looking for his friend and dodging the frenzied dancing that was almost a rumble in itself as each side mocked and goaded the other with harried dance steps. Alfred had to smile at how seriously they took something as silly as a small section of street and he paused to watch the mambo turned dance off with amusement.

But then, as they danced off to the side and gave Alfred a clear view of the opposite side of the gym, Alfred's heart skipped a beat and his throat seemed to close up. There was a boy leaning against the wall, scowling at the proceedings with his arms folded. But then their eyes met and the scowl fell from the boy's face and he pushed away from the wall. The rest of the world was gone, it was just him and the blond across the gym.

Alfred swallowed the lump in his throat and he walked along the perimeter of the gym, the boy on the opposite side mirroring his movements, and never took his blue eyes off the green ones watching him. Slowly they made their way towards each other and finally stopped just short of crashing into each other, both breathing a little heavily despite the lack of exertion and staring wide eyed. Alfred's heart felt fit to beat out of his chest.

By then the hectic mambo had eased into a much slower dance, which Alfred decided to wing. He and the boy danced together without touching, small steps and slow sweeps of the arms until even the music seemed to fade away. They continued to stare at each other in silence until Alfred hesitantly decided to break it.

"So, uh…you're not mistaking me for someone else, are you?" His throat still felt tight, and his voice was hoarse as a result.

"Of…of course not," the boy replied just as hoarsely. British accent. An Englishman. Alfred's stomach did an excited little tumble.

"And we haven't met already, have we?" Alfred asked, though he knew the answer already.

"No, we have not," the boy confirmed and Alfred nodded weakly, running a hand through his hair.

"I knew something awesome was going to happen today, but this is…I mean…" he paused and laughed nervously. "Damn, my hands are shaking."

"As are mine," the Brit responded and held up his trembling hands for Alfred to see. Alfred gently took the hands in his and they both sucked in a breath at the same time. He ran his thumbs over the smaller hands of the Englishman, and tried to think of something to say. Something awesome. Something that would make a really great first impression.

"Some dance, huh?" he said stupidly and instantly regretted saying it. The boy's brow furrowed, he had rather large eyebrows, Alfred suddenly noted, but he didn't pull his hands away. Actually, Alfred felt him twisting his hands so they were palm to palm, holding hands. Alfred swallowed and the Brit followed suit.

"You're not just messing with me, are you? Because if you are-"

"Don't-! Don't take me for a fool, you git!" the other interrupted irritably and then clamped his mouth shut immediately after. Alfred let out another nervous laugh.

He didn't realize he was doing it until the Brit's face got steadily closer, but he started to slowly lean down towards the other boy's face. Alfred's lips parted when the other's did and his eyes slid shut just before their mouths pressed together.

As cheesy as it was, Alfred could swear he saw fireworks far more spectacular than ones on the Fourth as he slowly kissed the smaller boy. It wasn't the most passionate kiss he'd ever shared, just a light brushing of lips against lips, but it was certainly the most meaningful. There were never any kisses before he'd kissed the person before him.

He gently released one of the Brit's hands, intending to cup his cheek and deepen the kiss when suddenly his knees buckled. They had been struck from behind and he crumpled to the floor.

"Hey, what the-?" he stammered and scrambled to his feet.

"Oi, Carriedo! What's your problem?" the Brit growled and it was then that Alfred saw said Spaniard. He'd apparently hit the back of Alfred's knees with his own, causing him to fall over.

"You know he's the enemy, amigo," Antonio replied pleasantly, and though he had an equally pleasant smile on his face, Alfred knew that he wasn't someone to be underestimated. Alfred looked from the Brit to the Spaniard and back, realizing that he'd just fallen head over heels for his supposed enemy.

"Now you see here, Carriedo, I'll do whatever I-"

"Uh, hey! No worries! I was just leaving, okay?" Alfred interrupted and the Brit gave him a bewildered look.

"You're a smart one, aren't you?" Antonio chirped and he started to hustle the fuming Brit away, followed by a scowling Italian boy.

It was then that Matt finally saw fit to make an appearance, but Alfred didn't care anymore. He just watched as an even smaller Japanese boy attempted to quell the Brit's rage.

"Come on, Arthur-san. Let's get a cup of tea," he said calmly and the boy nodded after a short pause. He was slowly ushered away by the Japanese boy, and he paused only momentarily to lock gazes with Alfred. Alfred just nodded and smiled weakly as the Brit slowly left the congregation.

His head felt light, like it would fly away, and he repeated the boy's name to himself. He grinned as he somehow made his way to the exit, forgetting about Matt and the rumble challenge he was supposed to issue. All he could think about was how he'd never known there could be so many wonderful, beautiful things associated with one word, one name.

"Arthur."

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**A/N: _West Side Story_ parody for the win. :)**


	6. Your Distant Sky

**30 Meetings**

**Story Six: Your Distant Sky  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Arthur grimaced as his would be supper went up in flames once again, leaving a charred brick that didn't even remotely resemble the meat it had been before he'd started to cook it. But the meat had been a gift from Berwald, a rare treat that couldn't go to waste. He sighed and cut the blackened piece into two portions.

As if on cue, his younger brother Peter came bounding in from outside. Still a child, and so not weary with their dying world yet. He still believed their older brothers would return, bringing news of a place that had an abundance of food and clean water, no threats of vicious creatures, and plenty of reasons to keep on living. Arthur knew better. If they weren't dead, they had long stopped caring about the two little brothers they had left behind.

Peter slid into his chair at the makeshift table and took one look at the plate in front of him before he grumbled about how nasty his brother's cooking was and how he didn't want to eat it.

"Tino's food isn't this bad," he whined and slumped stubbornly in his chair.

"Well, we're not with Tino, are we? You'll eat what you have and like it," Arthur snapped. He walked behind Peter and pushed the chair roughly forward, causing the boy to yelp and sit up straight before his face could slam into the table.

"You're a jerk, Arthur! Jerk Arthur! Jerk Arthur!"

Arthur slammed his fist against the table and gave Peter a sharp, warning look. Peter immediately cowered under his gaze and begrudgingly picked at the piece of meat before him. They ate in silence and then Peter vanished from their rundown house again. Likely to go visit with Berwald and Tino again. Arthur watched him run across the barren earth from the window and then sighed.

Arthur had convinced himself once that he had to keep on living for Peter's sake, that his little brother _needed_ him, but now he knew that Tino and Berwald would be more than happy to look after Peter in his absence, and that Peter would indeed prefer it that way. There was truly nothing for him to live for.

Their little house was empty save for the few, meager items they'd managed to scrounge up (when their older brothers had still been around, they'd made several treks to the local abandoned towns to pillage whatever they could carry), as well as a few items that they'd received as gifts. The beds were made by Berwald, thus ending the need to sleep on the floor. The pan he used to cook with came from Tino. But the land outside was dead. Years and years ago most of the world had been wiped out during a full blown nuclear war. Those that were left behind barely clung to life. Each day was a test of whether they would have anything to eat, if they would be killed by wild animals, if they would lose hope and end their miserable lives early.

In that little house on a cliff in West Europe (there were no more countries, just vague boundaries referred to by the continents they used to be on. East Europe was desolate and uninhabitable, and Arthur didn't know or care about the state of the others), Arthur often thought of flinging himself into the ocean below, exchanging his life for whatever waited beyond. He didn't know why he never followed through.

Arthur grabbed the bucket beside the door and made for the coast. Perhaps he'd caught some fish that day. The nets were empty when he checked them and Arthur swore colorfully. He stared out at the expanse of the ocean when a bit of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was a bird, a pigeon, he realized and he watched it with a great deal of interest. It didn't fly away at the sight of him, rather it approached him and stared expectantly up at him.

"Well, hello there. Where did you come from?" Arthur asked the bird, although he knew it wouldn't respond. It cooed and held its foot out. Arthur knelt down and realized that a slip of paper was tied to the bird's leg. He furrowed his brow as he gently untied the knot binding the paper and unraveled the message. Because it _was_ a message, scrawled in messy, barely legible handwriting.

_Hey there, whoever you are! If you're there, that is. Hopefully Birdie actually finds someone… If you're reading this, write a letter back, all right? Just attach it to Birdie's leg and he'll do the rest!_

Arthur just stared at the letter for several long moments, reading it over and over again. Finally he lowered it and wondered just who the hell was dumb enough to send a bird out with no destination. Someone who didn't deserve such a useful creature, that was who. He'd just have to keep it, put it to more practical uses than its foolhardy former owner had. He gently eased the bird on his finger, then onto his shoulder and grabbed his bucket. There may have been no fish that day, but at least he'd found the bird.

He kept the bird in the house for several days, wondering what he should do with it, and he kept re-reading the letter. Whoever had sent it was an idiot, but it was an idiot who still had hope. He hated to admit it, but it gave him a sliver of hope, as well. He grumbled and retrieved what precious little paper and ink he had and proceeded to compose a short message of his own.

_What kind of idiot are you to send that bird out with no destination? You are wasting paper, as well!_

He carefully tied the letter to the pigeon's foot and it seemed to understand what it had to do, because the second Arthur put it outside, it took off into the air. Arthur watched as it faded into the distance and then went back into the house. He probably wouldn't get a response again.

Several weeks later, however, the bird appeared at his window, cooing and holding out its foot expectantly. Arthur blinked in surprise as he took the message off the bird's leg, fully expecting it to be the same one he'd sent the bird off with all those weeks ago. Instead he was shocked to find a new message written in the same barely legible scrawl from before.

_Oh, great! Someone __is__ out there, after all! Hey, where are you from? I'm in North America (or what's left of it, anyway). My name is Alfred, too! I found some seeds the other day, I'm going to plant them and hope something grows!_

Arthur scoffed at how the writer, Alfred, had completely ignored his inquiry about his intelligence (or lack thereof) in sending the bird out the way he'd done. Then he had to gape at Alfred's location. North America? Arthur turned to regard the pigeon, which ruffled its feathers and cooed, and his eyes widened. Such a little bird had made such a journey? That such things could still happen in that world was a miracle in itself.

He gave the bird a few days to rest up and regain the energy it would need to make the return trip again, while he milled over the information he'd learned from such a short message. There were still people in North America, there were pigeons who could make a trip across the ocean, and his correspondent had seeds he was going to grow. He hadn't had fresh fruits or vegetables in many, many years. It was all canned items from days long past.

He clicked his tongue as he composed another message.

_Your bird is quite impressive, making a trip like this. I am in West Europe and my name is Arthur._

It was with more excitement that he sent the pigeon off that time, and Peter joined him as he watched the bird head towards the western horizon. The anticipation of a return message made the wait seem longer than the one before when he'd been expecting nothing. Finally, one day the pigeon delicately landed on his head and held out the precious message it carried.

_Damn, I knew Birdie was amazing, but I didn't know he was __that__ great! Nice to meet you, Arthur! (Well, you know what I mean.) Guess what sprouted while I was waiting for your letter? Tomatoes! My friend Feliciano is going to be so happy! By the way, I sent some seeds with Birdie, so hopefully they made the trip safely. _

Arthur realized that there was a tiny packet of something attached to the message that time, and opening it revealed some seeds. Arthur stared out at the dry land around him and wondered if it would even be possible to grow such a thing. He'd have to ask Tino and Berwald for help. It was odd how one little bird carried so much hope.

_Thank you for the seeds, Alfred. I'll be planting them and hoping for the best, as well. _

Their correspondence continued for months, and it very quickly became the thing that Arthur lived for. Alfred's letters, Alfred's seemingly endless optimism, the seeds to various fruits and vegetables he sometimes sent (he and Peter had quite the garden growing), and how rapidly he grew to care for Alfred, who gave him hope in a dying world.

_I managed to dig up some old books and I got to read about something they had in the old world: airplanes! If I had one of those, I could fly just like Birdie to meet you. But anyway, as soon as I have enough supplies, I'm going to build a boat, and I'll sail to West Europe. I know you're going to say I'm crazy, but I'd be crazy not to come to you._

Just the thought made Arthur's heart pound, and although he did indeed send a message telling Alfred he was utterly mad to even think of making such a journey, he couldn't deny how utterly…happy it made him to think of the person he'd come to live for coming to be with him.

But then months passed and there was no word from Alfred. Arthur watched the sky anxiously day after day, ignoring his brother's teasing, but there was never any sign of the little pigeon. That is, until one day when the bird landed on his window, its legs caked with blood. Arthur gasped, but realized that the blood was not from an injury the bird suffered, but rather it had come from whoever attached the message, which was splotched with drops of blood. Arthur opened the message in a panic.

_I'm sorry, friend. It took a long time for me to even find the energy to write this letter. There was an earthquake, it killed several people and destroyed my garden. Everything I worked for is gone. I don't think I'll be coming to meet you after all. Funny, huh? I thought as long as I held out with hope that things would work out. Guess life is a bitch no matter how you look at it._

Arthur blanched. The thought of Alfred, his eternally optimistic friend, losing hope was just not feasible. It made him angry to think about it and he spent several days fuming at Alfred for letting the world get him down. At last, one day he practically tore a sheet of paper as he furiously wrote a message.

_Don't give up, you fool! __My__ garden is still growing, and you'll see for yourself that hope still exists in this world. I'll teach you just as you taught me. So belt up and get your arse over here._

Arthur sighed as he rolled up that message, hoping that Alfred knew him well enough by then to know the real meaning behind his harsh words. _Let me be your reason to live, just as you are mine._

He tied the message to the bird's leg and stared out at his thriving garden, at the ocean beyond. He glanced down at the pigeon perched on his hand and kissed the top of its head, imagining that the action could somehow be felt by the one waiting for the small bird across the sea.

"Godspeed, little one," he murmured and released the bird into the sky.


	7. Gunner and Summoner

**30 Meetings**

**Story Seven: Gunner and Summoner  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Alfred never once thought to question the way of the world, it just was what it was. Monsters carried money with them, sometimes potions and antidotes and other such useful items. On the rare occasion, they had a useful accessory or two on them, as well. A hard day's work was all well and good, but in the end, the best way to make a living was to clear out the monsters that roamed the countryside. Those that were in good shape formed traveling parties and set out to rid the world of the creatures that plagued innocent travelers, all while making a tidy profit in the process. Or, as it was in Alfred's case, they worked as mercenaries for their local guild, taking up tasks that the townsfolk commissioned.

But Alfred was tired of taking on menial tasks; clearing the (mostly harmless) mochis out of an old woman's garden, delivering a letter for a man who broke his leg, helping a wife pick out the perfect color for her future baby's room, going on a date with a desperate young woman. He wanted an adventure, the likes of which many others before him had set out for. The world was a huge place, with so many more possibilities than his hometown of America could ever provide. He wanted to be a hero, so that he'd have a statue erected in his honor in the town square, and travelers from all over would come to see where the great adventurer Alfred F. Jones was born and raised.

Like any adventurer, Alfred had picked out a class to specialize in, and he had chosen to be a gunner. Although his brother insisted that he was being unduly arrogant, Alfred was confident in his abilities and was certain that there was no one who could match his skill in that class. He was an excellent marksman, quick on the draw, and had fashioned his own elemental bazooka that drew from and enhanced his own limited mana for use in addition to his two pistols. Simply put, he was amazing and he knew it.

But even the most amazing of heroes knows that he can't take on the world as a gunner alone. He needed backup, a full party of a variety of support classes who would watch his back while he went in guns a'blazing.

Which brought Alfred to his present predicament. He wanted to set out on his adventurer, but he wanted at least one other party member before he did so, and of course he decided on the class that would be most difficult to find in his area of the world. A mage.

"Preferably a cute white mage. You know, one who will lovingly tend my wounds after a battle and fawn over how brave and strong I was!" Alfred exclaimed as he heckled his brother after he'd completed yet another guild assignment.

Matthew sighed. He was quite happy he had opted _not _to specialize in a class and had instead taken over as proprietor of the guild, even if his primary customer was his annoying brother. He could only imagine what he'd be dragged into if he had tried his hand at adventuring like Alfred.

"You know perfectly well that there are no mages around here who aren't already in parties. All the magic schools are in England and Norway."

"Yeah, but those towns are so far away!" Alfred whined. "I want a mage now! _Before_ I start on my adventure! Come on, Matt, you were in Canada recently, right? Weren't there any there? Or maybe you have some assignments from a mage? Help me out here, bro!"

Matthew hesitated and bit his lip before he replied, "well, there is _one_ mage I'm aware of, but I've heard he's-"

"Ridiculously powerful and talented?"

"Well, yes, but also that he's-"

"The kind of person to strike fear into the hearts of men?"

"That, too, but mostly that he'll-"

"Tell me where he is! I'm going to have him join my party and we'll go off on our adventure!"

Matthew twitched and removed his glasses so he could rub his eyes. His brother really was an idiot. "If you really must know, he's said to be hiding in the woods south of here."

"Awesome! I'm off then! Thanks for the info, Mattie!"

Matthew watched his brother as he took off armed with his pistols and bazooka and then rolled his eyes. "If he doesn't kill you right away, don't come crying back to me. I _tried_ to warn you…"

---

Alfred was admittedly a bit reckless as he blasted his way through the countryside and into the southern woods, so he had very little mana left by the time he reached the sea of trees, but he was so excited about the prospect of recruiting a mage that he didn't care. He wouldn't necessarily need mana all that often anymore if he had a mage keeping his back. His bazooka functioned as a non-elemental weapon in a pinch anyway.

He slung the enormous gun onto his back and adjusted his glasses as he tentatively stepped into the darkness of the forest. He'd heard rumors of ghosts lurking in the woods, but tried to brush those unpleasant thoughts to the back of his mind, ignoring the chill that went down his spine at the lack of any sort of sound or sign of life outside of vegetation in the thick trees. He wandered deep into the woods, jumping at the slightest sound and wasting more ammunition shooting at specters that weren't really there, and finally he reached the point where he was ready to give up and go back. Even an awesome mage wasn't worth the stress of that forest. It was then that he stumbled through a break in the trees and he squinted at the sudden assault of sunlight. When he could comfortably open his eyes again, he gasped. It was like he'd stepped into another world entirely.

In the clearing, the sun poured onto a beautifully tended garden full of rosebushes, ornamental trees, and an array of various flowers and shrubbery. What looked like flecks of light floated serenely on a light breeze, and Alfred's frayed nerves were calmed by the sound of running water provided by a stream that ran through the area. He might have just been imagining it, but Alfred swore he could hear music as well. Alfred took slow steps as he wandered into the garden and regarded everything with absolute awe. Finally his eyes fell onto a small building in one corner of the garden, and his adventurer's instinct told him he'd found the location of his future mage. With an elated grin, he closed the distance between himself and the building with a sprint and he slammed the door open as he rushed inside.

Like the garden, the building was beautifully decorated with what were probably spoils from some vicious creatures, dragons perhaps, they were notorious hoarders, and pieces that could only come from races like elves or dwarves. In particular, a suit of dwarf-made armor armed with elfin blade caught his attention. A distinctly giddy feeling was growing in Alfred's chest, knowing that his soon to be party member was so amazing that he could obtain dragon treasure or converse with other magical beings.

The flecks of light from the garden seemed to follow him as he wandered into a large hall adorned with impressive tapestries and accentuated by an enormous chair at the other end of the hall.

"What, may I ask, are you doing here?" called a voice from said chair, causing Alfred to jump, startled.

"Oh, hey! You must be the mage my brother told me about!" Alfred called back and he quickly ran so he could better see his mage to be.

"_Summoner_," the voice corrected and it was then that Alfred got a good look at the source, and the grin fell right off his face. Rather than a badass old man with some sort of crazy magic stick, it was instead a tiny blond with enormous eyebrows who was sipping at a cup of tea. The majority of his body was covered with a cloak that was tied at his throat with a frilly bow. A small white creature ran around his feet while crying out "pyo! pyo!" over and over. Alfred scowled.

"You're it? What the hell, you're not a badass, terrifying mage! You're just a little pipsqueak!"

Said mage also scowled and lowered his teacup, his gigantic eyebrows knotting into a comical mass on his forehead. "_Summoner_, you dolt."

"Well, _excuse_ me, princess. Whatever, a mage is a mage, I guess. Anyway, my name is Alfred F. Jones, gunner and future hero, and I'm here to tell you that you're going to join my party!" Alfred announced proudly, the grin returning to his face.

"And why in the world would I want to do that?" the summoner asked irritably, and Alfred noted that he had an odd expression on his face, like he was going to be sick or something.

"Because! I'm going to set off on an adventure to be a great hero, and I need magic backup to do so! That's where you come in! I mean, you _can_ cast magic, can't you?"

"Of course I can, you imbecile! Far stronger than anything you could ever imagine!"

"Which is why you're going to join my party!"

"Absolutely not! Now kindly remove yourself or I'll do it for you."

Alfred huffed, but didn't move an inch. "Man, you're stingy. You should be honored I'm asking you to join me! I'm the best damn gunner in the whole world!"

"I do not associate with barbarians who need to carry around unnecessarily large guns to assert their worth," the summoner sniffed and resumed sipping at his tea.

"Hey. _Hey._ This here-" He pulled the bazooka off his back and waved it at the summoner, who didn't even flinch. "-is an elemental bazooka that harnesses my mana! Can you name any other gunners who have done such a thing? I'm going to be a hero, but I need your help to do it!"

"The answer is no, and now I'm afraid your time is up."

Alfred frowned, but before he could ask what the small man meant, he got his answer. The ground beneath him exploded in a burst of white light, and, looking down, Alfred saw the runic markings in a circle around him. What he had presumed to be flecks of light were in fact faeries, their lovely faces almost maniacal as they giggled and held Afraid firmly in place on the ground. His gaze shot up again to the summoner, who had moved his cloak aside to reveal the book on his lap. Alfred swallowed hard and realized that the odd look on the man's face had been because he'd been casting a spell the whole time.

"Wait a minute, you can't-"

"Say goodnight, 'hero'," the summoner interrupted with a smirk as he stood up and held the book aloft in one hand, the other hand held out towards Alfred. The man's eyes closed and he chanted an incantation in a language Alfred had never heard before.

The faeries released him just in time for the spell to be completed, the runes bursting around him and washing over Alfred in a sensation that might have been pain, but he was too shocked to tell. Before Alfred's world went dark, he was vaguely aware of the summoner approaching him with a dangerous grin on his face.

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**A/N: Because it's been brought up, I'd like to mention that I'll likely continue some of these, but not all of them. Any continuations, however, will not be written until I'm finished with all thirty short stories, both for my sanity and also so you can decide which stories you _really_ want to see continued. Thanks for all your support, everyone! :)**


	8. Don't Stand So Close to Me

**30 Meetings**

**Story Eight: Don't Stand So Close to Me  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Arthur Kirkland wasn't sure what to expect when he stepped through the doors of the American high school he'd be assigned to work in. He had been rather reluctant to take the job, he was far too intelligent to be teaching mere children, after all, but with the way it was difficult to find work anywhere, he'd ultimately decided that beggars can't be choosers.

The morning was rough, as his colleagues insisted on prying into every detail of his life that he refused to divulge to them, and the rest of the day was shaping up to be just as miserable as he reviewed his syllabus. He refused to let how cynical he was feeling show, however, as weakness of any kind was not an option as far as he was concerned.

The warning bell rang and Arthur sighed. Time to face the music, as it were. He gathered his things and exited the staffroom, dodging rowdy teenagers on his way to his classroom. Some of them were quite a bit taller than he was and broader, as well. Despite being in his early 30s, he had a young face, as he was constantly reminded. He had even been mistaken for a student when he came in for his interview. As such, the students had no qualms with shoving him rather roughly aside despite his attempts to assert himself.

He swore enough to make someone's dear old granny cry as he readjusted his books and materials and stomped down the hall with his head held high. He deliberately ignored every child he passed until he felt the unshakeable sensation that someone was watching him, and watching him very intently at that. Arthur looked around until his eyes fell on a blond in glasses sporting one of the school's letter jackets. His stomach did an odd little tumble at how intense the boy's gaze was, and he quickly averted his own gaze and pressed onwards. He stopped momentarily to glance behind him, only to see that the boy was still staring at him. Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat and ducked into his classroom.

Although he did a good job of staying focused on the task at hand during class, during his downtime Arthur's thoughts kept drifting back to the teenager who had been staring at him, who Arthur was now beginning to think had been very attractive. When those thoughts taunted him, Arthur promptly slammed his head against his desk.

---

Despite the humiliation he felt he was suffering by teaching English to class after class of teenagers with vacant looks in their eyes instead of the hunger for knowledge he had always possessed, Arthur managed to think of it as easy money, and an excuse to expand his own intellectual horizons when the students were occupied with their reading or writing assignments. The first week passed without incident, and he even managed to forget about the blond boy who had watched him so intensely the first day.

The following Monday, however, Arthur was informed that he had a new student transferring into his first period class. Nothing remarkable, but it was still a change. Arthur hoped it would be a student who would actually have some interest in the subject he was teaching, so he'd feel a bit more fulfilled in the work he was doing.

Imagine his surprise when he walked into his classroom to find the boy with the intense gaze sitting in the first row. His heart skipped a beat when the boy smiled brilliantly at him and stood up to introduce himself.

"Name's Alfred Jones! I'll be in your class from now on, teach!" the boy stated brightly, although his blue eyes were still very intent behind his wire framed glasses.

"_Mister_ _Kirkland_ please, Mr. Jones. You may take your seat," he managed to respond without letting his voice quaver at all.

It was hard to focus on his lesson when his eyes kept drifting back to Alfred the whole time, who was watching him just as intensely as he had the first day of school. Arthur wasn't stupid, he knew that look. He'd seen it before, although he was ashamed to admit that this time it utterly _thrilled _him to see that look in Alfred's eyes. But there were many, _many_ things wrong with that train of thought, with the situation. Alfred was roughly half his age. Underage. His student. His beautiful student.

Arthur wrenched his gaze away from Alfred once again and stared instead at the ridiculous "hang in there!" poster one of the other teachers had hung up in his classroom to give it more character. He was getting more and more uncomfortable by the second. The end of the class couldn't come fast enough.

Arthur thought about scurrying to the staffroom and coming up with some excuse for why he couldn't have Alfred in his class, but before he could leave, he noticed that Alfred was lingering behind and still watching him. Arthur's hands suddenly felt sweaty and his head light. He slid into the chair behind the cheap desk he worked at before he could lose consciousness.

A small smile formed on Alfred's face and he stood up, approaching the desk with something clasped in his hand, which he deposited in front of Arthur.

An apple.

Ridiculous is what Arthur would have thought any other time, but at that moment it just made his face heat up, and he swore that all the moisture in his body was making its way towards his palms. He was going to be sick.

"I'm really bad at this subject, teach. Hope you can help me out?" Alfred asked, his eyes sparkling with something Arthur recognized, but refused to acknowledge.

Arthur's throat felt dry. Painfully so. He swallowed thickly and averted his gaze from the heated one the teen was giving him. There really was no mistaking that look.

"Of course," he croaked hoarsely and he quickly cleared his throat. "Should you need any extra help, please feel free to contact me. I'll be certain to help you."

"I'll be counting on it, teach," Alfred responded with a grin, then he slung his backpack over his shoulder and winked as he sauntered out of the classroom.

Arthur slid further down into his chair and ran his hand through his hair, his other hand clutching at his chest over his rapidly beating heart. He couldn't believe what he had just gotten himself into, and even worse was that he was looking forward to it.

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**A/N: I do not condone this sort of behavior at all, so this is one story I won't continue.**


	9. Sudden Shower

**30 Meetings**

**Story Nine: Sudden Shower  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Had it been any other day, Arthur would have just walked through the sudden downpour, not caring if he wound up looking like a drowned rat afterwards. It was all in the way he carried himself, after all, and he always held himself with the utmost dignity. However, that day was different. If he was lucky, his life was going to change completely, for the better.

He took shelter under the awning of a restaurant and watched the scenes unfolding before him as he waited for a break in the clouds. People ran to seek shelter of their own, others were already prepared. Across the street a well-dressed woman attempted to run in tall, thin heels under the relatively small shelter of a bubble umbrella. A man in a nearby building held the door open for her to run into. Small children in their bright vinyl raincoats and boots hopped in and out of puddles while their mother attempted to wrangle them, talk on her mobile and juggle her brolly all at once. On the sidewalk, the raindrops impacted and exploded into a torrent of smaller drops, occasionally splashing Arthur's shoes. He wrinkled his nose and backed up against the bricks of the building.

Beside him, a man--American, he could tell from the stupid look on his face--casually walked under the awning and stood next to him. He was completely drenched, but didn't seem to care, he just casually took his glasses out of his front pocket and put them on his face. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead, drops of rain falling into his blue eyes that he just unconsciously blinked away, his clothes sticking to his body in a most unflattering way.

"Mornin'!" the man said brightly, a warm smile on his face. Sunshine on a rainy day, Arthur thought, but then dismissed those thoughts as ridiculous. He grunted in reply and turned his attention back to the sheets of rain before him.

"This weather, huh? Had I known this was what I was in for, I could have stayed in the States and moved to Seattle instead!" he blathered blithely on, not caring that Arthur had intended to stop the conversation before it even began. Typical American.

He seemed to take the hint when Arthur didn't reply that time, because he just started bouncing on his heels and quietly hummed a song that Arthur didn't recognize. It was a surprisingly comforting sound. He turned to look at the American again, who was looking out at the rain himself. His mouth was shut firmly as he hummed and Arthur realized that he had yet to acknowledge how wet he was. He was going to catch a cold for sure. He didn't know why he cared.

Arthur clicked his tongue and stared back out at the rain, wanting either for the shower to end or for the man to leave. Preferably the former, as it would take care of the American problem and he could get to his interview early. Make a good impression. Leave his dreary going nowhere life behind.

The American sneezed, abruptly stopping the song he'd been humming, and Arthur rolled his eyes. The least he could have done was cover his mouth. The man sniffled and turned back to Arthur.

"Whoops, guess I should have dressed a little warmer, huh? You think I would have learned by now to start carrying around an umbrella here, but I guess I-"

"Do you ever shut up?" Arthur interrupted irritably and whipped his head around to glare at the American, who raised a sopping eyebrow in return.

"So what's your story, old man?" he asked casually, still continuing on obliviously.

Arthur snorted. "I'm hardly older than you, you pretentious yank."

"Well, I mean, you're really grumpy, your face must be frozen like that or something, and there's gotta be some reason for that, right? I don't think people are born with sticks up their ass," the American mused and watched a man as he casually walked to his car across the street.

Arthur briefly considered giving the man a bloody nose on top of a cold, but decided it wasn't worth mussing his clothes or potentially injuring his hand over. He considered the American again for a moment and was struck with the sudden urge to spill his life story, all of his woes and frustrations that had been building up over the years.

_At this moment my life is going nowhere. It really gets lonely sometimes, too. I'm sick of it._

He closed his eyes and shook his head, remembering himself. He couldn't even reveal such things to close friends, let alone some obnoxious brat who didn't listen in the first place. It was foolish to even consider doing so and Arthur felt all the more irritated for it.

"That is none of your business, thank you," Arthur snapped and looked impatiently at his watch. Pretty soon he'd just have to brave the rain and make a run for it. That way he'd still have time to fix his appearance if he got too wet.

"Suit yourself. When you die of a stroke in a few years, don't say I didn't warn you," the American said and shrugged. "Name's Alfred Jones, by the way. Thanks for asking."

"I _didn't _ask," Arthur responded and reached in his pocket for a fag, only to remember that he had none on his person. The world was just stacking up the cards against him that day, wasn't it? He sighed and considered once again venting his frustrations on the American, but in a different way. It might be cathartic to yell at someone, a release. But as he opened his mouth to do so, suddenly the downpour stopped.

"_Finally_," Arthur sighed and quickly went on his way. A song drifting to his ears made him stop and turn around. Alfred was following him, it seemed, and he grinned brightly when Arthur turned to look at him. Arthur scowled and picked up the pace, not caring that he was splashing water onto his nice trousers if it meant he'd lose his pursuer.

The song continued to follow him regardless, Alfred humming a song he didn't know and didn't want to know. He just wanted to get away.

"That's really fucking annoying, you know," Arthur called over his shoulder as he marched on.

Alfred just hummed louder.

* * *

**A/N: By the way, those of you who wanted to see "Gunner and Summoner" continued, I did start writing "An Impromptu Fantasy" which will be an ongoing fic! :)**


	10. Bomb In The Lasagna

**30 Meetings**

**Story Ten: Bomb In The Lasagna  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**

* * *

**He wasn't going to make his rent that month, it was an absolute certainty at that point. Arthur slammed his head against his laptop's keyboard, as if that would somehow make a bestselling story appear on the empty Word document on his screen. It was a moot effort, he knew, and he'd have to resort to either living with Francis again or wind up on the street. The street would probably be better, especially for his blood pressure and writer's block.

Arthur lifted his head slightly to glare at that confounded paperclip, which he was swore was mocking him. Oh yes, Arthur Kirkland, who had written an award winning story was expected to release another bestseller…a few years ago, but here it was five years after his initial story and he had yet to release anything that was remotely worthwhile. He'd thought that spending day after day in that little café near his flat would jumpstart his creativity, but instead he just became irritated with the other patrons for breaking his concentration. He continued to come day after day, however, because it was better than being in his flat when the people upstairs were an even bigger distraction. The Italian was always yelling at the more passive Spaniard over just about anything, or else they were having sex. Very loud sex. Arthur didn't need the reminder that he hadn't been in a steady relationship for several years on top of everything else.

The alarm went off on his computer and Arthur sighed. Off to his oh so glamorous retail job where no one realized he was the author everyone had been praising years ago and just kicked him around instead. He was always getting warnings about how poor his customer service was, but Arthur couldn't bring himself to care. He closed the lid on his laptop and shoved it into his bag. Another day, another blank document.

Arthur stood to leave, and that's when it happened. Suddenly there was a terrible crash, and the glass of the large window sporting the name of café exploded inwards as a man came rolling in armed with more artillery than any one man should have. Arthur gaped as the man, an American, he realized, stood up and brushed himself off, then looked wildly around the room, which had fallen silent, until his gaze fell on Arthur. He quickly approached while everyone looked on in shock.

"Alfred F. Jones. Come with me if you want to live," he said and held out his hand.

"I…What?!" Arthur sputtered and backed up, clutching his bag to his chest like a lifeline.

"Look out!!" Alfred shouted and tackled Arthur to the floor just as what was left of the window was blown away by sudden gunfire. The patrons of the café screamed and scattered in a panic, while Arthur wheezed under the considerable weight of the psycho above him.

"What-what is this?" Arthur gasped and tried to push the American off of him.

"Russians. It seems they're after you," Alfred replied as he pulled out a gun and lifted himself off of Arthur so he could return fire to what Arthur realized was a large group of men who were also armed with way too many weapons.

"Are you out of your bleeding head?!" Arthur shouted above the gunfire, earning a horrified look from Alfred as he briefly ceased fire.

"My head is bleeding?! You bastards!! You'll never take us alive!!" Alfred yelled emphatically and pulled out a grenade. Before Arthur could protest, Alfred pulled the pin out with his teeth and tossed it into the fray. Arthur watched regretfully as the beautiful fountain in the square was reduced to little more than rubble and a geyser of water, while Alfred's intended targets went completely unharmed.

"Come on," Alfred said and quickly pulled Arthur to his feet, pushing past the panicking patrons as he tugged Arthur towards the back exit.

"Unhand me at once! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur squawked, but was unable to wrench his hand out of the man's firm grip. He thought about hitting him upside the head with his head, but was afraid that the maniac would take that as an excuse to shoot him, too.

"Protecting you," Alfred replied simply and slammed Arthur against the wall next to the back door while he followed suit. He reached over and quickly turned the knob, pushing the door open and then wrenching his hand back as if waiting for an attack. When there was none, he peaked out the door and, apparently satisfied, grabbed Arthur's hand again and rushed out the door.

"You're a maniac, is what you are! I don't need protecting, _you're_ the one they're firing at!"

Alfred didn't respond, rather he pulled Arthur flush against him and backed into the shadows of the alleyway while a helicopter circled overhead. Arthur felt his face heating up and he hated it, hated that he was getting so easily manhandled by a trigger happy American who dragged him into the middle of his firefight when all he wanted was to go to work. With a burst of adrenaline, Arthur shoved himself away from Alfred, who was too busy watching the helicopter to notice. Arthur swallowed and clutched his bag again as he started to sidle away. Perhaps the man would take his fight elsewhere. Far away. Far, far away. In the meantime, Arthur would have to find a way to get to work safely, away from crazy Americans and Russians.

"You better take cover," Alfred called over his shoulder and Arthur froze. The American reached onto his back and pulled off what was undoubtedly a rocket launcher, which he propped onto his shoulder and aimed at the helicopter.

"You're not seriously-" Arthur started, but the whistling of the rocket firing interrupted him. The shot hit its target that time, and the helicopter exploded in a blaze of glory and scraps of metal which went flying in all directions. Arthur felt his heart in his throat as a bit of the wreckage landed mere inches from him.

"I _said_ to take cover," Alfred sighed with a raised eyebrow as he turned to face Arthur, the rocket launcher still propped on his shoulder and supported with one hand.

Arthur moved his jaw up and down, and he swore he could feel the little hairs standing on end all over his body as if he was bristling up like a cat. "You…you unbelievable fool! Why did you drag me into this in the first place? I just want to go to work!"

Alfred ignored him once again and stared down at what looked like a watch, but probably wasn't. "Well, looks like it's about time for us to make an exit. Shall we?"

"I'm not going _anywhere_ with you, you-"

But by that time Alfred had already swiftly moved to Arthur's side, wrapping an arm around his waist and firing a grappling hook at the top of the building. All Arthur could do was cling to the American and yelp as he was propelled into the air. They landed unceremoniously on top of the building, but Alfred didn't release Arthur, rather he clung tighter as another helicopter appeared.

"Shit," Alfred cursed and quickly ran across the building, carrying Arthur in one arm and firing a machine gun in the other, while Arthur just gave up resisting and hoped that Alfred wouldn't get him killed. Work, rent and writer's block were the least of his worries at that moment.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of English gardens, tea and crumpets on a sunny day, and the fairies he had befriended once upon a time. It took some effort, but he managed to detach himself from reality and go to that place he'd found in his consciousness where he wrote his bestselling book. A happy place that had no helicopters or crazy Americans, just inspiration. Beautiful inspiration.

When he awoke from his trance, there was no sound of gunfire and he was no longer moving. He blinked and wondered if he'd just dreamed it, but no. He was definitely on top of a building and the American was a short distance away, bandaging up his head. Arthur ran his hands over his own body in a panic, but found no wounds to speak of.

"Oh hey, you woke up! We got away, after all, so you should be all right now!"

Arthur marveled at how cheerful the American suddenly was, but really, the whole thing was ridiculous and wasn't worth the headache of trying to figure it out. He had no idea what the hell just happened and he didn't want to know. He just stood up and brushed himself off, relieved to find that his laptop had suffered no damage in the struggle either. Alfred stood as well and closed the distance separating them.

"If you need me, call me on the sponge. I'll come in an instant," Alfred said emphatically as he shoved something into Arthur's hand. Just as quickly as he had initially appeared, he disappeared, jumping off the side of the building. Arthur ran over to the side to see a parachute that Alfred quickly abandoned when he touched the ground. The American disappeared into the shadows of a nearby alleyway just as the parachute exploded.

Arthur blinked and stared down at the thing Alfred had given to him. It was indeed a sponge, but a phone within a sponge on top of that. Arthur would never use it, it probably had a self destruct function that Arthur would invariably activate if he tried to call anyone with it. He clutched at his head and groaned. A quick glance at his watch revealed that he was _very_ late for work, but at that point Arthur didn't care anymore. He let himself into the stairwell of the building and sat down on one of the steps, where he pulled out his laptop and opened the lid.

The blank Word document was still there, as was that paperclip bastard, but he was ready for them. He cracked his knuckles and started to type.

"It all started on a morning like any other…"


	11. In Bloom

**30 Meetings**

**Story Eleven: In Bloom  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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**

He should be drunk, he thinks. Or high. Or both. Anything to detach himself from the shit that is reality.

Arthur stubs out his cigarette on the side of the liquor store and scoffs. Too young to purchase alcohol, his arse. Anywhere else in the fucking world and he'd be legal, but no. His father had to go chasing after his American whore who dumped him once she'd milked him dry, leaving him stranded in the States with four boys he couldn't support. They're all abusive, worthless, so Arthur spends most of his time on the streets instead of in the dump that is supposed to be home.

He briefly contemplates torching the damn place, it sure as hell would make a glorious blaze, but that would be a tragic waste of alcohol, whether or not he can actually get his hands on it. Maybe he'll find a bum later and promise him half the bottle if he goes in the store on Arthur's behalf, then kick his worthless, bottom feeding arse and take all the liquor for himself afterwards. For now Arthur pulls out another stick of nicotine and lights it up, reveling in at least one of his vices.

---

There's teenagers practicing that horrendous American football in his park when he goes to break into the cars of the park goers and Arthur clicks his tongue at the display that is supposed to be a show of masculinity on the surface, but is probably just a way of venting homoerotic urges without scrutiny. Arthur doesn't lie to himself. He likes it both ways. Women. Men. Sex is sex, and he's not picky. He takes what he can get. He prefers to be in control, however, because it's the only real way he's found he can get off. With the way he's kicked around at home and in life in general, it's a thrill to be in control of something, and sex is something he's very good at.

He leans over the fencing, blowing smoke in the faces of the teens as they run by him. They turn to glare, but his sharp gaze, intentionally tattered clothing, spiky hair and piercings must be enough to scare them off the idea of telling him off, because they just mutter among themselves and get back into the game.

One of them shouts "go long!" to a blond who is already running down the length of the field, and Arthur watches this one with some interest, although he's not sure why. Maybe because his shirt is off, or maybe because his glasses are slipping off his nose in a surprisingly endearing way. Whatever it is, Arthur can't take his eyes off him as he catches the ball and hoots and hollers in victory as he apparently scores, and then Arthur can't tear his eyes away for the remainder of the game, even long after his cigarette burns to nothing in his fingers.

With the setting of the sun, the teens call the game, some giving each other high fives or slapping their friends on the back in a way that faintly makes Arthur once again think of suppressed urges, but he's too busy watching the blond from before to care about mocking them anymore.

Said blond pulls on his t-shirt and waves goodbye to his friends as he heads for a bike chained to a tree close to where Arthur is standing. Arthur watches him intently and is amazed that the teen doesn't buckle under his gaze like so many others do. Rather, his brow furrows and he bristles slightly as he approaches.

"You mind not smoking around here next time? Some of us appreciate our lungs, ya know," he says confidently in a dreadful American accent that sounds like it's the bastard child of the northeast and south, but goddamn if Arthur doesn't find him unreasonably attractive.

Arthur smirks as he pulls out another cigarette, just so he can light it up and blow the smoke in the blond's face. He coughs and glares, then stalks off to his bike and mutters something under his breath. Arthur watches him as he disappears down the street, then walks home feeling in good spirits for once, so that not even the bitching of his brothers can get him down.

---

Arthur continues to drop by the park at the same time every day, as the same group of boys shows up often to practice where Arthur can unnerve them with his constant presence. In the following days, Arthur does his research and learns that the blond's name is Alfred and he attends the nearby high school as a senior where he plays on the school's American football team and helps out with volunteer work whenever he can. He's got a full ride at a good university where he'll major in biochemistry and possibly intern with NASA. Despite his attraction to the boy, Arthur can't help but feel a twinge of bitterness. What a good guy Alfred is. Rubbish. Bastard was probably born with a silver spoon in his mouth and has never known a day of hardship in his life.

That doesn't stop Arthur from watching him and only him during the practices on that park field day after day, however. He's a bit obsessed, he thinks, but he can't really help it. He's driven by the idea of _having_ such a person, someone so out of his league, in his bed, at his mercy. God, what a thrill that would be, and his pants tighten uncomfortably as Alfred runs the length of the field with the ball in his hand. His own hand is a poor substitute for what he imagines Alfred would be like.

The boy's not as dense as Arthur had once assumed, because one day after the congregation disperses and Alfred walks to his bike that he continues to chain to the tree near where Arthur camps out day after day the blond speaks up instead of ignoring Arthur as he'd taken to doing.

"You're always hanging around here, kid-"

"Arthur," he corrects with a smirk.

"_Arthur_," Alfred repeats with a raised brow. "I noticed that you're always watching me, too. So what's the deal? You must really want me or something."

Alfred laughs, thinking he's making a great joke and Arthur will insist that such a thing is completely untrue and Alfred can tease him a bit, but Arthur's smirk just widens.

"I do. I want you so badly it's driving me crazy," he says smoothly, confidently, and it's with a great deal of pleasure that he watches the color drain from Alfred's face and his mirthful expression fade into a look of horror.

Arthur pats the teen on the shoulder in a mock display of affection as he walks past, leaving him frozen in shock, but Arthur knows, somehow, that he'll have Alfred soon enough. He can be patient now and then when he wants to.

* * *

**A/N: This is another one I won't be continuing, mostly because I already dabbled in delinquent!England before with my story "As You Are" (which I'm writing a proper prequel to).**


	12. Space Pirate Kirkland

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twelve: Space Pirate Kirkland  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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**

"I have the latest bounty heads, Alfred. One of them is labeled urgent."

"Urgent, eh? Let's hear it!"

Alfred jumped from his stepladder where he'd been doing minor repairs on his ship to sit at the small table where his friend and partner, Kiku, was laying out the latest job opportunities. If it was urgent, it likely meant a substantial reward.

"A large shipment of raw fuel is under threat of theft on Earth colony 3733. The job is to go in and prevent this theft from occurring."

Earth colony 3733. A storage colony for merchants, so the presence of civilians would be small, if anything. Alfred wouldn't deny it if called on it, but he wouldn't admit either that he'd take on jobs for little or even no money at all if the task entailed rescuing innocent people. He liked to be a hero, and see everyone's smiling faces when their threat was extinguished. But if it was just a bunch of cargo he was protecting, he expected a pretty hefty price in return.

"And whose head are we hunting?"

"Space pirate Kirkland and his gang. It seems he sent a notice ahead of time to the Federation to inform them that he would be targeting that particular colony."

Alfred scoffed. He'd heard of Kirkland before, of course, although he'd never actually encountered him. The man was a menace, a take no prisoners type who looted valuables from various colonies and then obliterated them afterwards. Too many times had Alfred passed by what used to be a prospering colony reduced to little more than debris floating in space instead. The pirate was cocky, too. He'd had enough successes that he sent out notices of his next pillage in advance, as if he enjoyed the challenge of the Federation sending out its best men to stop him. He'd yet to be captured, though, and it seemed the Federation was getting desperate enough that it was turning to bounty hunters.

"Kirkland, eh? So what's the bounty? Better be pretty damn good if we're going to tangle with that bastard," Alfred mused as he leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin.

"Forty."

"Forty?! Are those Federation goons out of their fucking mind-" Alfred stood up and slammed his hands emphatically on the table just as Kiku held up his hand to stop him.

"Forty _million_," Kiku continued with a meaningful look.

Alfred blinked and fell backwards into his chair again. Forty million. Oh, what he could do with _that_ sort of money! Upgrades to his baby (that is, his ship), decent food instead of the crap he and Kiku were forced to eat because they couldn't afford anything else, better weaponry and maybe a trip to somewhere nice… But then, he remembered, it was no small fry they were going after.

"What's the bounty if we just recover the cargo?"

"Ten million."

Still enough for perhaps a upgrade to his ship's navigation system and food for a few months. Alfred decided right then and there that he wanted a challenge. He'd recover the cargo and gauge Kirkland's power. That way he'd be sure to capture the space pirate the next time they crossed paths.

"Looks like we're setting course for 3733!" Alfred said brightly and flashed Kiku a thumbs up.

Kiku just smiled to himself as he gathered the necessary documents and disappeared into the ship.

---

Space pirates. The scum of the universe. Bottom feeders who fed off the accomplishments of everyone else and prospered through violence and scare tactics.

Alfred stooped behind a stack of crates and watched as a group of said pirates loaded up their ship with food and other valuables from the stores of cargo on the colony. No sign of the raw fuel yet, though, which meant Alfred wasn't too late to stop them. But his chances of getting inside without being captured or worse killed were slim with that many pirates crawling around. He'd already seen some fallen Federation men, and there were probably plenty more elsewhere.

"There's too many of them, Kiku. There's gotta be some other way inside," Alfred mumbled quietly into his communicator. It was how their partnership worked; Alfred did the dirty work, and Kiku stayed in the ship and navigated for him.

He heard what sounded like "too many have never stopped you before" muttered from his friend, but Kiku continued talking as if he'd said nothing, so Alfred didn't bother questioning him. "There seems to be an air duct close by that will take you where you need to go."

"Roger that," Alfred confirmed and crept slowly and quietly to the side of the main building. He looked for any sign of pirates before he searched the building for the alleged air duct. It was hidden well, but Alfred found it. He pulled the grate away and crawled inside. The misplaced grate would be noticed eventually, so he had to act fast.

"All right, Kiku, where to now?"

"Keep going, it should be straight ahead. …Be careful that you don't fall through the grates again, Alfred."

"Hey, you know me! When have I ever done something that stupid?"

There was silence on the other end, so Alfred just huffed and continued crawling forward. He grimaced as he passed over a grate and saw the lifeless bodies of merchants below. So there _had_ been civilians, after all. Alfred mumbled an apology for not saving them before he continued onwards. Finally, Kiku's voice stopped him just as he reached yet another grate.

"Right here, Alfred. No biological life forms detected."

"Man, Kiku, can't you say something more awesome? We're not stiff bastards like those Federation guys, we're bounty hunters! The best ones!"

"My apologies, Alfred."

Alfred rolled his eyes at how no nonsense his friend was. He really could stand to lighten up now and then, and not just when it came to the virtual games they sometimes got a chance to play. Alfred pulled the grate away and jumped down into the room below, which was indeed devoid of any sign of life. Not that it mattered, because Alfred's mouth fell open at the sight of all the raw fuel in front of him. He walked in awe towards a crate full of the still crystallized fuel, and he picked up a few shards to turn them over in his hand and admire the way they sparkled. No wonder Kirkland wanted to raid that colony, there was probably billions of dollars worth of fuel just in that one crate, and the room was full of them. It couldn't hurt if he took just one, could it?

"May I ask why you're touching my fuel?" A voice behind Alfred asked sharply. Alfred's eyes widened and his head whipped around to see a scrawny looking man dressed in flamboyant clothing standing in the doorway to the room. Those eyebrows were unmistakable, it was him. Kirkland, the fearsome space pirate. Not that he looked particularly fearsome, but Alfred wasn't so foolish that he'd underestimate the man just because he looked ridiculous.

"Space pirate Kirkland, I presume? I'm taking back what _isn't_ yours, thanks," Alfred replied and smiled confidently. He turned off the communicator to drown out Kiku's desperate pleas for him to not engage Kirkland and just run.

Kirkland also smiled and laughed derisively. "You're not Federation... A bounty hunter, are you? Fools like you are _nothing_ to me."

Alfred moved just in time to dodge the blast from Kirkland's gun. He stared in a panic at the crate of fuel and was relieved to find that the box hadn't been hit with the blast. "Watch where you're firing that thing, would you? Hit the fuel and we're _all_ toast!"

Kirkland just smirked and fired another blast that Alfred dodged in a hurry. He had no choice now, he had to fight back. He pulled out his own gun and fired carefully aimed blasts at Kirkland, which the pirate dodged with ease. Alfred swore as he tried to maneuver the fight out of the storage room. He could be a little more reckless if he didn't have to worry about not hitting the fuel crystals.

"Not bad for pirate scum," Alfred said as he ducked out of the way of another shot. "And here I thought you were all mindless barbarians who just liked shiny things."

Kirkland let out a bark of a laugh as he rushed Alfred and knocked his gun out of his hand. Alfred stumbled backwards, falling back, and found himself eyelevel with Kirkland's gun. "You are indeed a fool. This world needs to change, boy, and _I'll_ be the one to bring about that change. Such a shame you won't get to live to see it, isn't it, lad?"

Alfred gulped, not sure how he'd manage to get out of that predicament. Kirkland smirked, a frightening fire in his green eyes, and then Alfred moved. He kicked his legs out, catching Kirkland off guard, and wrapped his legs around the pirate's waist, maneuvering so he tossed the pirate out of the room and slammed the door behind him. He smiled impishly as the pirate stood up, bewildered, and looked in shock at Alfred through the small window in the door.

"I'll just be taking this, thank you!" Alfred shouted through the door so Kirkland would be sure to hear him. The pirate's shocked face faded into another smirk and a cold chill went down Alfred's spine.

"If I can't have it, no one can," Kirkland said, and he pulled out what looked like a remote. Alfred's eyes widened and he shook his head furiously.

"You wouldn't-!" Alfred started, but it was too late. The pirate pushed the button and Alfred cringed as an alarm blared and a PA system announced the commencement of the self destruct system.

"Ta ta, bounty hunter! Alas that we'll never meet again!" Kirkland yelled as he ran down the hall and vanished.

Alfred struggled with the door, only to find that the self destruct system seemed to include a lockdown, perhaps as a way to protect the cargo from pirates such as the one who had activated the system in the first place. Alfred looked in a panic at the fuel crystals, but the PA system reminded him that he only had a few minutes to escape, so he jumped back into the air duct he'd entered through.

"Shit!" He turned his communicator back on and shouted into it in a panic. "Kiku! We're getting out of here _now!!_"

He tore up his knees and elbows as he rushed through the air duct and back outside, where he saw the pirates' ship taking off. Although he couldn't see him, he had a feeling that Kirkland was there, smirking even though he'd lost what he'd been after, as well.

Alfred ignored the searing pain in his legs and sprinted towards his ship, where Kiku was ready to go the second Alfred ran inside. Then all the bounty hunter could do was watch as the colony exploded in an almost beautiful blast as he and Kiku barely escaped in time. He slumped into the co-pilot's seat and clutched at his head.

"Kiku, we're _not _telling the Federation about this."

"Of course not," Kiku agreed and sighed mournfully.

"Oh yeah, and Kiku?"

"Yes, Alfred?"

"We're _going_ to catch that Kirkland bastard," Alfred said through gritted teeth as he pulled his hand away and glared down at the debris that had once been Earth colony 3733.

Kiku just sighed again, knowing it would be a futile effort to argue with his friend once he was set on something. "Of course, Alfred."


	13. Fairy Wings and Dragon Scales

**30 Meetings**

**Story Thirteen: Fairy Wings and Dragon Scales  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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**

Two dragon brothers sat perched on a cliffside, surveying the scenes unfolding before them as the sun crept into the sky and chased away the will-o'-the-wisps. The other magical creatures were beginning to stir and greet the day, just as the dragons were. The fairies were flitting in the meadow, the dwarves crept up from their mines, the elves carried themselves with their ever present air of self-importance, a small never before seen creature crept through the forest of mushrooms… Alfred, the self proclaimed elder of the two dragons, stopped his scan of the landscape and nudged his brother.

"Matt! Look over there in the mushroom grove!"

The meeker of the two dragons also stopped looking around and glanced in the direction of the mushrooms. He tilted his head to the side in wonder.

"What a remarkable creature...what do you suppose it is?"

"A human." A unicorn with a splendid mane and an extra thick tuft of hair on his chin appeared on the cliff behind the brothers and shook his head to shake his magnificent hair.

"Oh hey, Francis! Found any virgins lately?" Alfred asked cheerfully.

Matthew chose to ignore his brother's lewd comment and instead inquired further on the presence of a human in their midst.

"A human? I thought that humans couldn't come here?"

"It's a human child, he still has magic in his heart. Perhaps Big Brother should go and make his stay comfortable, no?"

Alfred had stopped listening at the confirmation that it was a human child who still believed in magic and he shifted excitedly, his wings flapping up a gale as he fidgeted. "I wanna see him! I'm gonna go see!"

"Don't be ridiculous, you can't go after-" Matthew started, but Alfred was already taking flight and soaring down towards the wandering child. Matthew gasped and called after him, "Alfred! Wait!"

Alfred tore through the sky at a frightening speed as he descended towards the intriguing human child, his landing causing a great quake that uprooted many mushrooms and knocked the boy clean off his feet. He quickly scrambled to his feet and stared up with increasingly wide eyes at the enormous beast before him.

"I'm not afraid of you, dragon!" The child shouted, although he was in fact trembling violently. It even came through in his voice.

Alfred quirked his head to one side, regarding the quivering human below him. He looked to be an ape of some kind, but with less hair. Oh, but there were a couple of fuzzy patches of hair above his eyes, like those caterpillars that the fairies sometimes turned into butterflies. Alfred huffed.

"You're a strange little creature, aren't you?" he mused aloud.

The little human stopped trembling and bristled in indignation instead. The fuzzy patches on his face pushed together into one large mass that was very amusing to behold.

"N-No more odd than a dragon, I should think!" the child shouted with no waver to his voice.

Alfred lowered his long neck so his head was level with the human's body and the boy jumped back in shock. His eyes widened as well, and that's when Alfred got a good look at them. They were a pretty shade of green, like the forest of the elves he never got to set foot or wing in.

"You have nice eyes," he stated honestly.

The child's face turned a rather interesting shade of red then, a phenomenon that fascinated Alfred. "What…why would you say a thing like that?!"

"Why not? I like nice things," Alfred said nonchalantly and tilted his head in confusion. The boy bristled again, and his face turned an even deeper shade of red. Alfred nudged the child with his snout and was swatted for his trouble.

"What kind of dragon are you?"

"The best in my clan!" Alfred stood up tall and proud, and he puffed out his chest and beat his wings. The boy was knocked off his feet again and Alfred stopped. He lowered his head again to regard the human once more. "I'm Alfred, how about you?"

The boy seemed to gain more confidence from the admittance of Alfred's name, because he also puffed out his little chest and held his head high. "My name is Arthur! Just like the king of legend!"

"So even humans can have kings? Say, have you ever flown before?"

---

"I have you now, foul beast! You will not terrorize the good people anymore!"

Alfred danced nimbly around his Arthur (because the child was indeed _his_ now. Much in the same way another dragon would hoard treasure, Alfred hoarded Arthur's attention and snapped at anyone who threatened that, including his brother) as the boy waved a stick around like a sword. He'd dodge for awhile, but inevitably he'd let the boy win. Then he'd fall to the ground with a great crash and Arthur would descend upon him to deliver the final blow in the form of arms around his large head while he laughed. Alfred would chuckle, too, though not too loud so as not to accidentally injure his little friend.

Day after day Arthur would come, and he and Alfred would spend their time together in happiness Alfred had never known before. He was relatively young for a dragon, only a couple hundred years old, so the world was still full of wonders for him, but nothing was so fascinating to him as the boy with the green eyes and fuzzy patches above his eyes. Sometimes they'd soar through the sky, or Alfred would swim in the sea while Arthur sat perched on his back, peering through a spyglass and playing a game he called "pirates". Or sometimes they'd just sit in the meadow while the fairies were careful not to draw too much of Arthur's attention. It was fun, and Alfred wanted it to last forever.

But Alfred didn't feel years the same way his Arthur did, and he noted as the boy grew steadily taller and taller, his childlike wonder giving way to more practical diversions. Their games decreased in frequency, conversations Alfred couldn't quite follow replacing them, and then Arthur's visits grew shorter and shorter until one day Alfred sat waiting for his friend…and he never came.

"He's a human, Alfred. Children grow up and they stop believing in magic," Matthew said gently to his bereft brother, who continued to wait in the same spot for Arthur to return.

They were the words Alfred least wanted to hear and he lashed out violently against his brother in anger and dismay, his heart broken. "It's not true!! Arthur won't leave me!!"

He went on a rampage, his common sense clouded over with a haze of rage and sadness, until he finally tucked himself away in a cave, wanting to be alone.

---

He wasn't sure how much time passed while he sulked like a child in that cave. Days, perhaps decades. Even Matthew had given up trying to get him to come out after awhile and Alfred lay in the dark missing Arthur and their carefree days of play.

One day, though, the sun broke through to where Alfred lay and the dragon opened his eyes in irritation. Someone was coming to bother him again and he lifted his head to growl menacingly at the intruder.

"I'm not afraid of you, dragon!" Came the reply. Alfred froze at those words and allowed the haze of anger and sadness he'd been shrouded in to lift so he could see the figure clearly.

The frame was taller and stockier than when he'd last seen it. His features were much sharper as well, but those green eyes and thick fuzzy patches were undeniably those of his Arthur. The figure approached him carefully while Alfred stumbled to his feet, a small smile forming on the human's face.

"We meet again…Alfred."


	14. This Magic Moment

**30 Meetings**

**Story Fourteen: This Magic Moment  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: This story has fem!England. I know some people don't like that, so just a warning in advance!  
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During the summer, Matthew Williams's parents would send him to stay with his cousin Alfred, because, as far as they were aware, Alfred was a fine young man who was a good influence on their meek son.

What they didn't know, and what Matt couldn't explain to them (because they'd just conveniently stop listening to him at that point), was that Alfred was trouble. The only reason he got away with everything was because he was a charming little brat who used his big, blue eyes and sunny smile to his advantage.

Much of the time Alfred just plain forgot that Matt was even around and so Matt would end up spending time with his aunt helping her cook and clean, but Alfred would always remember his existence when his friends needed another person for a sport they were playing or, more frequently, when there was trouble to be had.

That particular summer, when both Matthew and his cousin were thirteen, was very hot, and it made Matt miss the relatively mild temperatures of his home in Canada. It was so hot even that Alfred, who would normally run around in shorts and no shirt on even the most scorching of days, seemed to be affected by it. The fact that he noticed Matt all of the time was a pretty strong indication of how the heat was going to his head.

"You wanna go to the pool, Mattie?" Alfred asked one particularly unbearable day and so there was no way Matthew would refuse.

Alfred's friends were a bunch of strange guys. There was Kiku, Alfred's Japanese best friend who for the most part agreed with everything Alfred said, Feliciano, a panicky Italian, and his foul-mouthed brother, Lovino, Toris, the Lithuanian who adored Alfred for unknown reasons, and then Gilbert. Gilbert was a mystery, but apparently he had no friends his own age (somewhere around seventeen), so he had to hang out with a bunch of kids instead.

Matt followed his cousin to the pool where Alfred's friends were already waiting. Gilbert stopped them before they entered the showers to motion to the lifeguard on duty.

Audrey Kirkland. Evil overload of the community pool. A tyrant who would throw you out if you so much as walked at more than a leisurely pace. Cannonballs, excessive splashing, and having fun in general were strictly prohibited. She had recently broken up with her French boyfriend and so she was even more of a raging bitch than usual. At least that's how Gilbert described her, but Matt thought she looked like a very pleasant person, although her eyebrows were rather large. She sat up in her chair with an air of elegance and while she did blow her whistle when a group of kids ran by, she didn't seem to care that there was a bunch of splashing going on.

"I'm going to marry her," Alfred pronounced and several pairs of eyes turned to look at him. Alfred looked positively entranced.

"That would be so romantic!" Feliciano exclaimed and his brother scoffed at his side.

"Alfie's just talking shit, don't listen to him," Gilbert dismissed and led the way inside the showers.

Alfred stuck behind a moment longer to stare at Audrey through the fencing and then he turned to Matt and smiled. Matt knew that smile and he knew his cousin too well to not feel an icy sense of foreboding. Obviously Alfred was too young to get married and Audrey was an older woman besides, but Alfred was clearly planning something.

Day after day for a couple weeks they all went to the pool to escape the sweltering heat and they'd hang out in the shallow end roughhousing and just enjoying their free time from school. Gilbert would often ditch them to talk with a Hungarian girl, who always spurned his advances. Occasionally there was another boy with her, who looked out of his element in swim trunks, who would fight with Gilbert and then Audrey would spring to action and demand that they stop or be thrown out. Gilbert would then sulk on his own, mumbling about he was happy to be alone and he didn't need those prissy bastards.

Audrey never took any particular notice of the rest of them, because they never did anything outside of the typical swimming or splashing around, but Alfred was always watching her. It was a wonder a hole wasn't burnt into the side of her head with how intently Alfred would stare at her instead of messing around with his friends. Matt knew he was still planning something, but if getting her attention was what he wanted, why wasn't he running around the perimeter of the pool? Or perhaps splashing her to rile her up? Anything besides just watching her day after day.

It was one day after a hairy French teen came and spoke with her beneath her chair while she shoved him away with a foot that Alfred finally snapped. He pushed his way past his friends and climbed out of the pool, then walked around the perimeter towards the deep end of the pool.

"What the hell is he doing?" Lovino asked as they all watched Alfred climb onto the diving board and stare expectantly up at the lifeguard.

"Alfred can't swim!" Matt gasped and hurriedly tried to get out of the pool and stop his cousin from whatever it was he was planning to do.

"What?!" came a chorus of voices and they all followed Matt in a hurry just as Alfred jumped off the diving board and disappeared under the water.

"Alfred!!" Matt shouted in a panic and it gained the attention of Audrey, who stopped quarreling with the Frenchman and stared down at the water, where Alfred's silhouette was rapidly fading towards the bottom of the pool. She pulled off her whistle and sunglasses and dove into the water. Then all Matt could do was wait. Was Alfred so jealous of someone else getting Audrey's attention that he'd decided to jump? Had the heat finally destroyed what little common sense he had left?

Finally Audrey surfaced with Alfred in her arms and the French teen helped haul him out while the lifeguard crawled out of the pool and examined Alfred. He looked like he wasn't breathing and Matt felt sick.

"Is he all right?" Matt asked and stepped forward.

"Get back!!" she shouted with an unquestionable air of authority and everyone who had gathered backed off without question. Matt wrung his hands as the girl started giving Alfred mouth-to-mouth, which could only mean the worst.

"Alfie, you bastard, come on!" Gilbert hissed at Matt's side and the rest of Alfred's friends chimed in their agreements.

Matt started to feel faint as Alfred continued to show no improvement, but then suddenly Alfred's eyes opened and he smirked over at his friends as Audrey was pressing her ear to his chest.

"Alfred..?" Matt started to ask, but Alfred closed his eyes and went limp again as Audrey moved to blow air into his mouth again. Then it happened.

Just as their mouths connected, Alfred threw his arms around Audrey and kissed her. Audrey squealed and thrashed against Alfred's hold on her while Alfred continued to kiss her enthusiastically until she finally broke away and looked fit to kill.

"You…you prat!!" she shrieked and lifted a hand as if to slap Alfred, but then she stopped and just hauled Alfred up and dragged him towards the exit. Alfred followed easily along with a smug grin on his face all the while. Matt and the others ran after them, and Alfred's friends helped him to his feet after Audrey threw him roughly outside the gate and shouted that they were never to return ever again.

"What were you thinking, Alfred?!" Matt gasped as they ran from the pool and Alfred just shrugged and smiled that devil-may-care smile that said he had been planning to do that from the start.

Alfred once again paused to linger by the fencing and Matthew watched as his and Audrey's eyes met, and then she turned red, folded her arms and tossed her head to the side. Alfred's smile widened and he turned to Matt with his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Told you I'm going to marry her!" he exclaimed. Matt groaned and wondered if he could convince his parents not to send him to stay with Alfred anymore.

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**A/N: _The Sandlot _parody!**


	15. I Can Do It Better!

**30 Meetings**

**Story Fifteen: I Can Do It Better!  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Six AM sharp and Arthur Kirkland was wide awake. A quick shower was followed immediately by a well balanced breakfast (without any dairy or citrus, that is) and his usual vitamin supplements. Then there were breathing exercises, followed by some light vocal warm-ups ("me me me _me_") and physical exercise. Once satisfied that his morning routine was adequately fulfilled, Arthur pulled on his jacket and left his flat to head to the theatre and learn what new musical role he'd be starring in next.

Because of course Arthur would be the star, he always was. His vocal prowess and acting skills were unmatched. He was a baritone, and thus extremely flexible vocally, but in the event that the male lead was meant to be a tenor, the songs would simply be performed in a different key to accommodate Arthur's vocal needs. Never mind if it inconvenienced others, all that mattered was that he was the star. He knew that he was universally disliked by his fellow cast members, but as long as the rave reviews came in, Arthur could care less if he was liked by his colleagues or not.

Arthur was the first to arrive at the theatre, as per usual, which meant that he could commandeer the piano on the stage and continue his vocal drills until the rest of those lazy louts decided to finally come in and pull their own weight for once. Or perhaps not, considering how often Arthur had to make up for the lack of star power in the rest of the cast.

Eventually the rest of the theatre company trickled in and pointedly ignored Arthur, which they always did until they were forced to interact, and Arthur didn't care, because too much time spent with those people always inevitably frustrated him. All that mattered was that the troupe leader, Roderich, had entered at long last, with the latest musical on hand. Arthur ceased his vocal drills and listened attentively.

"Thank you all for coming, once again. As you know, Francis Bonnefoy's latest musical production was recently finished and we will be the first to put on the show. I trust you will all put your best into this production as you have done with others in the past." Roderich paused while the performers mumbled their agreements and nodded their heads, then he turned to regard Arthur. "Arthur, may I speak with you, please?"

"Of course," Arthur said and slid off the piano bench. He smirked at the sea of scowling faces watching him as he followed Roderich into one of the dressing rooms. This was it, his next big role would be revealed to him and he could begin work on perfecting every little detail of the performance. He waited expectantly as the troupe leader quietly shut the door.

Roderich fidgeted slightly for a moment, then adjusted his posture so he held himself with that same regal air he always possessed.

"I'm afraid that the male lead role will be given to another performer this time, Arthur."

Arthur blinked, then blinked again, then fluttered his eyelids and chuckled slightly. Surely he must have heard wrong.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur asked and he knew that Roderich would give him the rundown of his latest role and then equip him with a script and sheet music. Instead Roderich sighed and clutched at his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Mr. Bonnefoy is insisting that the male lead be a tenor, and there will not be any adjustments in key this time."

Arthur slammed his fist against the wall, causing costumes to go tumbling to the floor and making Roderich jump.

"This is preposterous! The show will fail if I am not lead! Do you really wish to have that kind of blemish on your reputation, Mr. Edelstein?" Arthur barked out as he breathed through his nose in an attempt to contain his temper.

The surprise on Roderich's face melted into a detached disinterest and he calmly nudged Arthur to the side as he moved to exit the dressing room.

"My decision is final, Arthur. You will be quite pleased with your role, I assure you. Mr. Jones will do a fine job, as well. You need not worry about my reputation or that of the company."

"Jones? Is that the bastard you think can replace me? Well, I'll show you that there is simply no replacing Arthur Kirkland!"

Arthur pushed Roderich aside despite protests and stomped his way back to the stage. He'd find this Jones bastard and he'd wring his neck. He'd put…blue eyes under unruly blond hair and above a brilliant smile, strong frame leading down to lean dancer's legs…

Arthur shook his head in a daze. The person standing center stage and surrounded by Arthur's cast mates was certainly easy on the eyes, but the point was that Arthur had never seen him before, which only meant that he was this Jones fellow and thus his mortal enemy at the moment. He would not be distracted by boyish good looks.

"Jones?" Arthur shouted and the unknown man and the people surrounding him stopped chatting and stared over at the bristling Englishman. The man smiled and gently eased his way out of the crowd towards Arthur.

"Alfred Jones, that's right. And you're Arthur Kirkland," Alfred said as he shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked.

Arthur thought about breaking the man's nose so he'd be unable to perform, but that could have some unpleasant consequences, so he'd just have to settle for asserting himself as the better performer.

"So you are the bastard who believes he can replace _me_," Arthur hissed.

"Times are changing, Artie. You gotta share that spotlight sometimes, you know?" Alfred responded and shrugged, that smirk never leaving his face.

Arthur fumed, but he simply nodded to one of his fellow performers who understood immediately what Arthur wanted. He scurried over to the piano and began playing a tune.

"Anything you can do, I can do better," Arthur sang and motioned for Alfred to follow suit. It was a challenge, one that Alfred couldn't back down from unless he wanted to immediately admit defeat and give up his lead role to the one who rightfully deserved it.

Alfred's smirk just widened and he sang back, "I can do anything better than you."

Arthur lifted his chin, amazed that the man had enough audacity to challenge Arthur Kirkland in a battle of voices, but he supposed that Roderich thought this person was talented enough to replace him, so perhaps he could enjoy the first real even match he'd ever had. He wouldn't ever admit it out loud, but even just from those few words, Arthur could tell that Alfred was a talented vocalist, tenor bastard or not.

"Any note you can sing, I can sing higher," Arthur sang and prepared to belt out his highest note, which would put any supposed tenor to shame. It was something he didn't do often, as it was uncomfortable, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I can sing any note higher than you," Alfred sang casually and bounced on his heels.

"No, you can't!" Arthur belted and strained to hit a note well into a female vocalist's range. The crowd of their fellow performers murmured their admiration and stared expectantly at Alfred.

"Yes, I can!" Alfred sang back and the soprano-like quality of his voice caused the crowd to gasp in awe and start clapping. Arthur fumed again. Damn tenor and his impressive falsetto, but he wouldn't back down.

"Anything you can say, I can say softer."

"I can say anything softer than you."

"No, you can't," Arthur all but whispered.

"Yes, I can," Alfred whispered back.

"No, you can't," Arthur said so it was just barely audible. Alfred looked frustrated.

"Yes, I can!" he belted out and that time it was Arthur's turn to smirk. He'd won that round. The next one would decide it, because it was Arthur's specialty and he'd never once lost in that vocal contest. Then Alfred would have to admit defeat and hand over the coveted lead role.

"Any note you can hold, I can hold longer," Arthur sang and the smirk on his face widened.

"I can hold any note longer than you," Alfred calmly sang back and rubbed his nails against his shirt as if buffing them. Cocky, but he'd be put in his place soon enough.

"No, you can't!" Arthur sang just as Alfred starting singing "yes, I can!" in reply.

They held onto that note, staring fiercely at each other, trying to get the other to choke and have to take a breath, but neither was willing to back down. Arthur was starting to feel lightheaded, but he saw that Alfred was starting to get a little blue in the face, so if he kept holding on, he was going to win! He was going to...

He eventually awoke on the couch in the dressing room and found Roderich sitting on another chair nearby. He blinked up at the ceiling.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You fainted after you refused to breathe while singing. I have already told you, Arthur, my decision is final and Alfred will be performing the lead role. Please do not cause anymore disruptions of this kind or I'll have to dismiss you from this production. You are one of our best, so I would prefer not to," Roderich sighed and stood up. "Please get a little more rest. Rehearsals for today were cancelled, so we will resume as usual tomorrow."

Arthur didn't respond and eventually Roderich left the room. Arthur sat up and glared down at his feet. He never lost a lead role. He was always in the spotlight. The one holding the show together. The reason for anyone to come to the theatre. He wouldn't have that stolen from underneath him by some American tenor bastard who could hold a note longer than him.

He'd have his lead role, and the answer was simple. He'd just have to utterly destroy Alfred Jones.

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**A/N: And with that, I've hit the halfway mark! Thanks so much to everyone who has been reading thus far! Hopefully you'll enjoy the second half of stories, as well!**


	16. Dreaming of the Street

**30 Meetings**

**Story Sixteen: Dreaming of the Street  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Work ends and Alfred pushes his way wearily into his tiny apartment. Thank God it's Friday indeed.

He thumbs through his mail (junk, junk, junk, bill, junk) and tosses it on the counter as he shrugs his coat off and wanders towards the curtains covering the sliding glass door to the balcony. Pushing the curtains aside reveals the glorious view of the city across the river.

Alfred pushes the sliding door open and wanders onto the balcony, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply as a breeze blows over him. The city never sleeps, and he imagines he won't be tonight either. A voice from an unknown source beckons him outwards and he pulls his coat back on as he locks his apartment door behind him once more.

There is no need to drive when it is a perfectly lovely night and he doesn't have anywhere to go, just that he wants to be out, so he walks. The reflection of the lights of the tall buildings and the suspensions of the bridge glitters in the river below and Alfred has to stop to admire the view. In the distance he can see the outline of the university bridge that also stretches above the river, the alternating white and red of head and taillights occasionally dotting against the darkness.

He wanders across the bridge into the heart of the city where the buildings tower above him and an array of possibilities awaits him. He can go to the nearby theatre, or perhaps wander over to the mall and walk along it looking for a good restaurant or bar to patronize. For now he wanders by the library, where he can see groups of people waiting for the nearby light rail. Perhaps he'll join them in waiting, then take the train to the end of the line, maybe just to the airport to greet travelers who have no one to meet them. No matter how many times he wanders through the city, he never ceases to find something to entertain him.

But there is still an unknown voice beckoning him and he drifts aimlessly through street after street. Fourth street, fifth street, sixth street, seventh, one after the other, going in circles, until he walks by a pub where a man is sitting at a table outside. Alfred pauses.

The man is fingering a carton of cigarettes, but not smoking, looking very much alone in more ways than one as he sits at the table and stares up at the lights of the building across the street. He finally lowers his gaze to meets Alfred's, and a lump forms in his throat. Even in the relative darkness Alfred can see that the man's eyes are green and although he isn't exactly the most conventionally attractive person he's ever seen, Alfred is definitely drawn to the man. He stares openly and the man finally raises one of his eyebrows, which are very large, although it's not in irritation, but rather curiosity. The man pockets the cigarettes and disappears into the pub.

Alfred slumps slightly, disappointed, but he does not let it bother him. He looks for traffic before he jogs across the street and continues his trek to nowhere in particular through the city. He doesn't get far before the man appears from the entrance to the pub, looking back and forth before he settles his eyes on Alfred. Alfred watches him and is watched in return. They wander down the street in the same direction on opposite sides, mostly watching each other, only occasionally looking ahead to make sure they won't run into anyone or wander off the sidewalk.

At the crosswalk, Alfred turns towards the man, who has also turned towards him, and the blue light indicating he can cross flickers on. He crosses, finding that the man doesn't follow suit, just waits, and they stop to stare at each other before continuing down the street side by side.

Not a word is uttered as they map out the city with their feet, but still they take pleasure in each other's presence until their journey inevitably takes them back across the river. The lights that glittered so nicely in the river below are much nicer to look at as they cast shadows upon Alfred's companion's hair and face.

Alfred finally learns his companion's name, Arthur, gasped between kisses and mingled breath against his apartment door. The voice that had beckoned him is undoubtedly Arthur's, same accent, same tone, and although it's spontaneous, Alfred can't help his passion, and it seems that neither can Arthur. Again the city has brought him what he was seeking, when he didn't even know that it was what he looking for.

Arthur's shoulder is soft as Alfred reaches out and touches it, touches his sleeping face, as the morning light trickles in, promising a new day. Alfred finds himself wishing for nighttime once more, the lights and bustle of the city, and Arthur by his side.


	17. Witness

**30 Meetings**

**Story Seventeen: Witness  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: The genre of this story is Horror, so I'm tacking a violence warning onto this one (thus the increase in rating).  
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_Series of Violent Murders Continues!_

Alfred wrinkled his nose as he read the headline on the newspaper his twin was reading across the table and shoveled a spoonful of Frosted Flakes in his mouth to try to distract himself from thinking about the details he'd heard on the news not twenty minutes before. Another victim, so thoroughly torn to pieces that identification was near impossible. There was no evidence to speak of that might indicate who the culprit was once again.

Alfred shivered, glad at least that the news broadcast hadn't included any visuals. After the first murder, he'd made the mistake of clicking on the attachment of an email one of his buddies had sent him, although in his defense it had promised something awesome, and was greeted with the gruesome sight of the victim. Blood, flesh and bone spattered in what would be an almost artistic fashion if not for the fact that it was the remains of a person. Alfred had vomited then and there, and he suffered from nightmares for weeks. Not that he ever told any that. He put on his usual tough front, he was a hero, after all. Still, he was relieved to see that the murder had taken place in another county, even if it wasn't the same one as last time. Or the time before.

"I hope they catch whoever keeps doing this," Matt's voice interrupted and Alfred once again saw the reason to be a strong hero when he noticed his twin's troubled expression. Alfred sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"Don't worry about it too much, Mattie! You've got a hero to protect you, you know!" Alfred stated confidently, although his brother gave him a skeptical look and sighed.

"Don't go doing reckless things, Al. Well, more reckless than usual, at least," he said mournfully as he carefully folded up the newspaper.

Alfred waved his hand dismissively and quickly wolfed down what was left of his cereal. "Hey, you know me! When have I ever done anything reckless?"

Matt just stared at him, and the unspoken "do I really need to list _everything_?" came through loud and clear with just that glance. Alfred shrugged and grabbed his backpack as he headed for the door.

"I'll be out a little late tonight, I've gotta finish up on a paper that's due tomorrow. If Mom calls, tell her to send more cookies, all right?"

"Didn't you get that assignment weeks ago?"

"Can't hear you, Mattie! Bye!"

* * *

Alfred was jarred awake by an irritable librarian reminding him that the library was closed and would he please leave now? Alfred groaned and realized that he must have fallen asleep while working on his paper. A quick glance at his watch revealed just how late it was and he swore under his breath as he gathered his things and was quickly ushered out. There wouldn't be a bus that went by his and Matt's apartment at that hour, which meant he'd have to make the trip on foot. To his great disconcertion, Alfred also realized that the charge on his iPod was completely depleted. What a time to not have tunes to distract him from the long walk ahead of him. He'd have to convince his brother that they _really_ needed to get a car or at least move somewhere closer to campus.

He started whistling to distract himself as he ambled casually with his hands shoved in his pockets, thinking of ways to convince Matt that a move was in order, and then he heard it.

A guttural sound, like someone was in pain, was coming out of the alleyway near where Alfred was walking. Alfred frowned, his hero complex starting to kick into full gear, and he ran into the alleyway to see if he could help whoever it was. His nose was immediately accosted by a horrible smell, one that reminded him of dissection days in biology class, only far more potent.

A rather frightening sense of foreboding ran like a cold chill down his spine, but he pressed onwards into the alleyway despite it. He turned the corner around the back of the building and stopped short.

There was a man there. No, perhaps it was a woman. There was just no telling anymore. All that he could see in the faint light of a distant light post was that this person was being easily torn to pieces. All he could do in his frozen horror was watch as flesh was torn, bones and organs flying along with the sickening sound accompanying the crunching of bones, the ripping of flesh. Then there was the blood, it was everywhere. Pooling around the body, splattering the nearby buildings, landing just short of Alfred's feet. The contents of Alfred's stomach rapidly made their way to his throat, but he caught himself before he could vomit. He doubled over retching regardless and blinked against the tears stinging at his eyes. What had he seen?

As he kneeled on the pavement trying to catch his breath, suddenly the light from the lamp post went out and the alleyway was drowned in an eerie silence. Alfred started trembling and although every nerve in him screamed for him to run _now_, he found he couldn't move. He'd always been afraid of the dark, even though he never admitted it, and in this case the fear of death accompanied his fear of the darkness. He looked up towards where the body had been and waited, waited, until finally in the blackness before him Alfred could see green eyes gleaming in the darkness. They were honestly _glowing_ at him, like two little lights, and that was enough to kick in Alfred's adrenaline, his fight or flight instinct easily settling on flight.

He stumbled backwards, tripping painfully over several garbage cans in the meantime, and hurriedly crawled to his feet despite the shooting pains in his leg. He ran the remainder of the way home despite the pain, never looking back once.

* * *

"What the hell did you do last night, Al?" Matt asked as he examined the angry bruises that were forming on Alfred's leg.

Alfred shrugged, trying to appear impassive despite how shaken he really felt. "You know those librarians. Stay on the computer too long and they'll literally kick you off."

Matt raised a skeptical brow and shook his head. "Well, you better email your professors and let them know you won't be in class today. You better stay off that leg at least for today."

Alfred froze. He _could_ stay home, but he was afraid to be alone. Whatever it was might have followed him back there, but it could follow him around campus if he went to class. He could ask Matt to stay home as well, but no, if whatever that thing was had followed him home, he couldn't endanger his twin's life. No, it was better to be around large groups of students where he'd be safest.

The news playing in the background caught his attention, where a reporter detailed the latest violent murder, in his own town. In that alleyway, blood everywhere, entrails strewn, bone crunching and breaking far too easily…

"Al?" Matt interrupted and Alfred jerked his head up.

"It's cool, Mattie! I've gotta hand in that paper anyway or the prof will kill me, you know! Then Mom will kill me and you'll kill me, and I'd rather avoid all that! I'll be careful not to put too much weight on my leg, don't worry."

He cringed a little at his use of the word "kill" but the point got across. Matt nodded, albeit hesitantly, and helped Alfred to the door.

"Well, call me if you need anything, or call Francis, he has no classes today."

Alfred scoffed. "If I call Francis, he'll just take advantage of the situation."

Matt chuckled nervously and let Alfred lean on him as they made their way out of the apartment. Even though he chatted animatedly to his brother like usual, Alfred couldn't help the nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach and the sense that something was still terribly wrong.

* * *

Someone was watching him. He could feel it. Eyes burning into the back of his head no matter where he went on campus. Out on the sidewalk, in the buildings, while he grabbed lunch. He'd even been called out for disrupting class when he'd looked desperately around for whoever was watching him and had to sit in a terrified silence all through class lest his eyes wander and he be asked to leave.

After the most stressful day of classes he'd ever had, and he hadn't even had any tests that day, Alfred was thankful to take the bus back to his apartment. He should have stayed home, after all or maybe that would have just been worse.

He pushed his way inside and waited for his brother to greet him. When there was none, Alfred's heart started beating a little faster.

"Mattie?" he called into the apartment as he flickered on the lights, and he walked right by the note attached to the refrigerator, never even noticing it.

"Mattie?" he asked again and there was no one on the couch watching maple syrup documentaries, the whole apartment had been dark before he'd switched on the lights. Maybe Matt was sleeping. He heard a thud from his room and he could swear his blood turned to ice. He had to leave, he had to leave now. Although his common sense screamed to just leave now, he walked slowly down the hall to his room. He pushed the door open, switching on the lights and expecting the worst. He froze.

Instead of his brother's unrecognizable body like he'd been dreading, instead he found his and Matt's cat, Hero, sitting on the nightstand, having knocked over Alfred's alarm clock for the umpteenth time. Alfred let out a relieved sigh and replaced the fallen clock on the stand.

"Hey, Hero. Don't scare me like that, okay buddy?" he said and reached out to scratch the cat's ears.

Instead of purring and arching into his touch, the cat instead bristled, his pupils dilating as he hissed menacingly at something behind Alfred. Once again Alfred froze, his own hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He heard and felt his heart pounding in his ears, his palms getting sweaty, his blood running cold once more. If he didn't turn around, maybe whatever it was would go away. No, there was nothing there at all. Hero was just angry at him. Cats were fickle like that.

But try to explain away his fears though he might, Hero was _definitely_ staring at something behind Alfred, not at him. Alfred swallowed and turned…

To find nothing there. Maybe he was just going crazy, maybe he'd been so worked up over news of all those murders that he'd imagined the whole thing. Kiku was always saying his imagination was too overactive sometimes. He sighed again and turned to chastise Hero for scaring him once more.

"Hello, Alfred," a man said pleasantly as Alfred turned around. Alfred gasped and stumbled backwards, falling onto his ass as he did so. The man had green eyes, _those_ green eyes, which were watching him with a great deal of amusement.

But then Alfred realized that the man, no, not a man, some sort of creature, it _knew his name._ He swallowed the lump in his throat and staggered to his feet. Whatever it was walked sedately around Alfred, blocking his exit out of the room.

Alfred trembled violently and thought oh god, he was going to piss his pants. Hopefully he'd be as utterly torn to pieces as the other victims had, so Matt and everyone else would likely believe he'd gone down fighting like a man instead of shaking like a lost child.

"Relax, lad. I'm not planning to hurt you, I would like to ask you something," it said, its British accent a would be comfort if Alfred didn't know that he was about to die a horrible, violent death. This was no human, no human could tear a person apart like that, and this wasn't a pleasant exchange. Alfred didn't say a word.

"Tell me, Alfred, what did you see?" it asked dangerously close to his ear. Alfred's breath hitched.

He wanted to say that he'd seen nothing, nothing at all, so please don't kill him, but his tongue was pasted to the roof of his mouth. He looked fearfully away from the thing standing so close to him, but he heard it tsk and then it appeared in his front view once more.

The door was wide open, he should run, but his legs were frozen in place. Hero was still hissing and making frightening noises as he backed away from the mysterious being in the room. The lights abruptly went out and Alfred started.

"What did you see, Alfred?" it repeated, and in the faint light Alfred could see the outline of sharp teeth set in a dangerous grin…


	18. You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling

**30 Meetings**

**Story Eighteen: You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Alfred often wondered why he allowed Francis to drag him to the same bar time after time. If Francis wasn't trying to get him drunk so he could get in his pants, he was pointing out men or women to try to pick up that usually ended up hurting Alfred in some way when his amazing flirting abilities somehow crashed and burned.

It was a mystery, really.

That night Francis didn't try to lead him directly to the bar counter, which meant that Alfred was going to have some unsuspecting person picked out for him to try to win over. Francis thought him too inexperienced, but since Alfred kept rejecting his advances, he'd made it his goal to find a suitable partner for him instead.

Francis surveyed the crowd and thumbed at his beard as he did so, appraising each person his gaze settled on with a critical eye. Finally his face lit up as he seemed to spot Alfred's next victim. He motioned to the younger man to look over at the bar, where a blond was half slumped over it.

"Over there at the bar! That poor, pathetic man, I believe he has lost sight of what's most important in life: love!" Francis said mournfully and lowered his head to Alfred's shoulder as if he couldn't bear such a sight.

"You say that about everyone," Alfred mumbled miserably in reply, wishing he could just be at home watching a game instead of getting dragged out night after night for nothing.

"Ah ah! But in this case, it is the absolute truth. Look at that posture! That scowl! That is the sign of a loveless man."

Alfred looked over to the bar where the man in question was sitting and Alfred had to admit that he did look like he was the lonely drunk type, drowning his sorrows in alcohol because he had no one to turn to. The man turned to yell something at the bartender and Alfred got his first good look at him. He was sort of attractive, in a way, Alfred supposed, although his large eyebrows weren't all that cute. Still, Alfred felt like he could be attracted to him. Maybe luck might be on his side for once.

"You think so? Nah, it can't be… You really think so?" Alfred asked as he continued staring at the man.

"Mon cher, if I am lying, I will eat my hat," Francis replied imploringly and Alfred fidgeted.

"He might not even be into guys," Alfred tried one last time, though Francis just smiled at him. Alfred sighed resignedly and threw his hands up. "All right, what do you think I should do?"

Francis's smile widened as he leaned over to whisper into Alfred's ear. Alfred's eyes widened and he pulled back to stare skeptically at his friend, who nodded grimly in reply. Alfred shuffled his way over to the small stage where a karaoke machine was set up and he paused once more. Normally he didn't mind making an ass of himself, but in this case he felt incredibly nervous staring over at the man sitting at the bar, although he wasn't really sure why. Regardless, he selected the appropriate song and braced himself.

"You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips," he crooned and several pairs of eyes turned to look at him. His cheeks burned as he stepped off the stage, dragging the microphone with him as he made his way to the bar. A couple of girls whispered excitedly to each other as he approached and seemed to deflate as Alfred passed them. Maybe he should have just abandoned the original plan and started to sing to them instead. Meeting Francis's gaze, however, he knew that that wasn't an option. Francis had decided already, and so the man at the bar was who he was singing to that night.

"And there's no tenderness like before in your fingertips," he continued, although his intended target still hadn't even turned to look at him yet. Something about that really irritated Alfred and it just made his resolve to succeed grow. With renewed bravado, he jogged the remaining distance to the bar and sat on the stool next to the man.

"You're trying hard not to show it, but baby, baby I know it!" he sang directly to the man with great conviction in his voice, finally earning a flabbergasted look in reply as the man turned to regard him.

"What are you doing?" the man gasped and Alfred smiled. At least he didn't look pissed off, at least not yet. If he wasn't into guys, Alfred could always write it off as a joke. Something to get the man out of his seemingly miserable funk. It was one of the few times Alfred was glad that no one took him seriously.

"You've lost that lovin' feeling! Whoa, that lovin' feeling! You've lost that _lovin' feeling,_ now it's gone, gone gone. Whoa-whoa-oh," he sang emphatically into the microphone and leaned across the counter towards the man in a poor attempt at a seductive move.

That was when the man started to look really pissed off and Alfred began to panic. Crap, Francis had missed the mark once again. Alfred shifted backwards, out of fear that he was going to be strangled with the microphone cord. The man stood and Alfred smiled sheepishly up at him, trying to say without words that killing him wouldn't benefit either of them. His nostrils flared and he looked fit to kill, but instead he just shoved Alfred away and stomped his way out of the bar.

From where he'd fallen on the floor, Alfred laughed nervously at the crowd of people watching him and, to save face, finished the song for a group of girls who swooned over him. Then he replaced the microphone on the machine and marched, humiliated, back to where Francis was clutching at his chest in laughter.

"Oh, if only you could have seen the look on Arthur's face!" Francis chuckled and Alfred felt the blood drain from his face.

"You _know _him?" Alfred gasped. He was going to kill Francis. He was seriously going to kill him.

Francis managed to sober up and he stared very seriously at Alfred, although the corners of his mouth occasionally twitched. "I was quite serious about him being a loveless man, Alfred. Now that he's noticed you, he'll come back to learn your name, no?"

Francis patted his shoulder and walked with open arms towards a group of women, leaving Alfred to stew in his thoughts.

For once, he found himself wishing that Francis was right.

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**A/N: Kiiiiind of a _Top Gun_ parody of sorts. :)**


	19. All It Takes Is One

**30 Meetings**

**Story Nineteen: All It Takes Is One  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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It was just a beer.

That's what they'd say if they knew what he was thinking. Just an innocent party with innocent drinking and damn the consequences when they were all hungover the next morning. It was a weekend and they could afford to have some fun before they fell back into the grind of a school week.

"Come on, Kirkland. Even you need to loosen up now and then," Gilbert said and shoved a can in his face. Next to him, Francis was leering, obviously wanting Arthur to get so pissed that he wouldn't care if the Frenchman molested him or not.

His excuse of being the class president and having to set an example for the rest of the students wouldn't fly, he knew. He was foulmouthed and tyrannical, ruling the school with an iron fist, and no student wanted to be like him.

He should have confiscated all of the damn beer and put a stop to the party, but instead he was frozen in fear, looking at the proffered can with a sick feeling pooling in his stomach. He couldn't drink it. He wouldn't drink it. It wasn't just a beer, it was a sentence.

His father was an alcoholic, his mother, his brothers, his whole family probably dated back several generations of alcoholics. He'd be one someday, too. He knew it. One drink and it would all be over. All he had to do was take a sip of that beer and he'd head down that path of no return. Towards a life of verbally and physically abusing others, never being happy, always angry, needing drink after drink after drink and never being satisfied.

"Come on, Kirkland! It tastes so good that it brings tears to my eyes! Don't be such a sissy!"

He shoved the can in his face again and Arthur finally snapped. He smacked the can out of Gilbert's hand, much to the irritation of the other boy.

"Fuck off, Beilschmidt," Arthur barked and turned to leave the dorm room, ignoring Gilbert's griping about the sad waste of a perfectly good beer.

He didn't stop walking until he was outside in the fresh air of the night and then he reached a trembling hand into his jacket and pulled out a cigarette. A perfectly filthy habit, he knew, but it calmed him, especially in moments like those.

He may have dodged the bullet for the moment, but Gilbert wouldn't let it rest. He'd hear all about it in school on Monday, if not sooner. But what was reputation where the rest of his life was concerned? So he tried to tell himself, but he'd worked hard to build his reputation, and his pride wouldn't allow for anything less.

"Oh, hey! You're the class president, aren't you? I didn't know you smoked," a voice called from somewhere behind him and Arthur whipped around to snap at his unwanted spectator, but found that there was no one there. He frowned and looked around, but still did not see the source of the voice. American, he knew that much and it was enough to irritate him even more.

"Up here!" the voice called again and Arthur tilted his head up to see a blond boy perched precariously on a branch of a tree. When their eyes met the boy waved frantically and grinned.

"What in God's name are you doing up there?" Arthur asked incredulously, both taken aback that the boy was _in a tree_ at night and still irritated that he'd been caught off guard.

The blond shrugged and grinned wider. "Hanging out. 'S a beautiful night, you know?"

"No, I don't know," Arthur snapped and he walked underneath the tree to find out what sort of view the boy might have. "Are you staring in at the girls' dorms, perhaps?"

The grin faded off the blond's face and he swung off the branch and landed with a loud thud on the ground.

"No way! That's not how I roll!" the boy insisted and Arthur backed off uncomfortably at the suddenly close proximity of the other boy.

"You would prefer to spend your time in a tree instead of at Gilbert Beilschmidt's party?"

"I wasn't invited," he stated simply and shrugged again. "Not like I care. I'm not really into that whole drinking thing. Looks like you're the same, huh?"

Arthur stiffened, and he felt that sick feeling pooling in his stomach once more. All it would take was one drink, but no one needed to know that. He shook his head, coming out of his daze and realizing that the blond boy was watching him with a curious expression.

"As the president, it is my duty to be the type of student that others can model themselves after," he clipped shortly, and he took another drag from his cigarette.

"And that's why you're smoking?" the boy asked with a shit eating grin on his face. He held up his hands in surrender when Arthur gave him a murderous glare. "So you've got a name, don't you, Mr. President? I never really paid attention to that sort of thing."

"It's Arthur," he replied, although he didn't really know why.

"Alfred F. Jones, sir! If you ever need someone to hang out with during those booze parties, you can count on me!" the boy replied cheerfully. Arthur vaguely recalled Gilbert talking about an Alfred Jones who was a loser with no friends except for Kiku Honda. Not that Gilbert had any room to talk when his only friends were Francis and Antonio, and they were all rather terrible company to begin with.

"That won't be necessary, thank you," Arthur finally said and went to lean back against the side of the building to finish his cigarette, intending to end that conversation that he hadn't wanted in the first place.

"Suit yourself! I'll see you around then, Artie!"

It was a promise, not a hopeful statement, but Arthur found he wasn't as irritated as he normally would be. He had to admit that it would be nice to have company during those times that he avoided parties with alcohol. Maybe it would decrease his anxiety over the whole thing if there was someone else who was a teetotaler like him.

Alfred was still smiling at him, obviously waiting for a farewell in return, but Arthur would not humor him. He finished his smoke and then stalked off, leaving the blond boy to return to his tree climbing activities or whatever he was doing before.

He had half a mind to go back in and stop the party, but he feared that would be even more damaging to his reputation than turning down Gilbert's beer had been. All he had was his reputation, and thought it almost funny that he might lose it over something he'd been afraid of nearly all his life.

He wasn't sure why, but somehow Arthur found himself back on the actual school grounds and heading towards the student council room. Once there he opened up the locked cabinet of confiscated items to be examined and dealt with later. He paused, that feeling in his stomach increasing tenfold, and reached inside for a particular item, which he grasped with white knuckles as he took a seat at his desk.

He turned the item over and over in his hands in contemplation. A bottle of vodka he'd confiscated from Ivan. He'd take just one drink, just to prove that he wouldn't fall victim so easily. One little drink wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't send him down the path that the rest of his family had taken. He opened the bottle and slowly brought it to his lips. He hesitated, thinking of Alfred's casual words about not drinking, then tilted the bottle so he could take a drink. He quickly pulled it away, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing.

It burned as it went down.


	20. Bang Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty: Bang Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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August 2, 1947. Chicago, Illinois.

He remembered that much, at least.

But that didn't explain why he was on his stomach on a filthy bathroom floor, or why his head felt like it would explode.

He sat up with a groan and clutched at his head. When he pulled his hand away, it was wet; stained crimson with a line of blood.

"Well damn," he muttered and then abruptly started. The voice was foreign to his ears and yet it had come from him.

With some effort he stumbled to his feet and clutched at the washbasin. He blinked away the spots dotting his vision at the overwhelming sensation of standing up too quickly and then looked up into the dingy mirror.

A blond with dark circles around his blue eyes and with askew glasses stared back at him. Blood trickled from a swelling wound on top of his head. His trench coat was filthy and his hair mussed.

He reached up a hand to adjust the glasses and the man in the mirror followed suit. His glasses. His face.

He didn't know that face, because he didn't know who he was.

He reeled backwards as he tried to remember something, _anything_ about his identity. He remembered green…green eyes? No, his eyes were apparently blue. He couldn't get the image of green out of his mind, though. Green. Green leaves underneath black caterpillars.

His head hurt. The pain only intensified the more he tried to remember. He had to stop thinking and get a hold of himself first.

He retrieved the hat that lay forgotten on the floor and dusted it off slightly before he put it on his head. A quick inventory of his pockets revealed a mostly empty wallet save for a few coins, an empty tobacco tin, a key to an unknown lock, and a .38 revolver.

Did he know how to shoot a gun?

He pulled out the revolver and twirled it on his finger before he pointed it at his still yet unknown reflection.

"Bang," he remarked with a grin.

Yes, he knew how to shoot a gun. He was damn good at it on top of that.

He shoved the gun back into his pocket and opened the door to the bathroom, desperate for answers concerning his whereabouts and identity.

He found himself in a hallway that led to a women's bathroom which, judging from the condition of the door, was in sorrier shape than the men's. The hallway led to another door that he pushed through eagerly.

He was in a deserted bar. A miserable joint that probably didn't see many customers even at its busiest. Pale light of dawn seeped in from a few small windows, but otherwise the only light was from sparse lamp lighting. He stepped forward, only to stop when a foul smell accosted his nostrils. He knew that smell. Decaying flesh.

Why did he know that smell?

The source of the smell did not remain a mystery for very long; he found it as soon as he stepped out of the doorway and into the main area of the building.

The bartender lay face down across the bar in a pool of his own congealed blood that had trickled from wounds in his head and shoulder. Rigor mortis had long since set in, he noted as he prodded hesitantly at the body. Apparently he'd gotten off easy with just a blow to the head and amnesia if there had been a murder .

"Guess I'll take the case," he murmured to the air without thinking and the action startled him.

He was a detective then?

He glanced back at the dead man and let out a sigh. Poor bastard. He probably hadn't even seen it coming.

In front of a stool further down the bar was a partially filled glass of now watered down scotch. He picked up the glass and swirled it around. The action made his head pound again as he remembered something in a sudden blinding wave of pain.

"Buy me a drink?" a voice had asked.

A limey next to him. Green leaves and black caterpillars. Green eyes underneath thick, black eyebrows.

He was on the floor again, only this time he was on his back staring at the ceiling. The glass lay shattered at his side and the scotch pooled around his hand. He turned his head to look at it, then looked back up at the ceiling.

He'd been sitting there the night before drinking that scotch with a man. A man he hadn't known before then, but was easily taken with.

Yes, he preferred men, didn't he? Men, not dames. Pity.

He sat up again and waited a moment before he used the stool to hoist himself to his feet. He wandered back over to the body and examined it as best he could in the minimal lighting. Cause of death was the head wound, but he couldn't tell if the shoulder wound had been merely insult to injury or a warning shot. The man had been shot.

He frowned and pulled the revolver out of his pocket again. Upon close examination there was residue on the barrel from fairly recent shots. He looked back at the dead body in alarm. Had he killed the man?

No, no he hadn't. He knew that much for certain.

No, he could remember mingled breath in that dirty bathroom and wandering hands in his pocket, closing around the revolver.

"You want to be a hero, don't you, ace?"

He'd had too much scotch, and that voice and those eyes had been hypnotic. He would have said yes to anything.

But he remembered grabbing that wandering hand and staring into green eyes that stared back, unimpressed.

"Not until I know your name."

The searing pain returned, but he clutched at his head and willed himself to endure it so that he could remember. He had to remember.

The limey's mouth had curled up into a smirk as he closed his hand around the one clutching his and pulled their bodies flush against each other.

"Arthur."

He panted as he barely dodged unconsciousness again.

Arthur had killed the man. Maybe. He couldn't remember anything beyond that, and he didn't think he could take anymore of that pain anytime soon.

He reached blindly around the body until his hand closed around a bottle, which he gratefully pulled back and opened immediately. It didn't matter what kind, he just needed some alcohol.

Arthur. He'd have to find him and demand answers.

As more daylight trickled in the windows and the rotting smell grew more potent, he knew that he was in for a long day.

After a few blessed swigs of gin, he placed the bottle on the counter and pulled his trench coat closer around himself. There were bound to be clues somewhere.

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**A/N: Only ten more to go!**


	21. Like A Chick Flick

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty One: Like A Chick Flick  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: This one was actually a kink meme fill I started, but never finished. I figured I could use it as one of my 30 Meetings fics. :)  
**

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"More _passion_, Alfred!"

The director kept saying that, but Alfred had no idea what he meant.

"You're both scorned lovers, trying to find a place in this cruel, unforgiving world and then! In a chance meeting in London you find it in each other! I want to see that in your _face_, Alfred! Show me that you've found the one you've always been looking for!"

Alfred sighed and looked back down at Natalia Arlovskaya's heavily made up face, the girl sighing and staring impatiently back at him, and tried to imagine her as the "one" that he had been looking for all his life. It was very hard, and not just because she was difficult to work with and therefore the last person he'd ever fall for, but also because he had no idea what it was like to be in love with someone.

"I'm not seeing the passion, Alfred!"

This whole romantic drama thing was a really bad idea.

He'd been doing action flicks, blockbuster after blockbuster, all that time, rocketing himself onto Hollywood's A-list. His last project had given him the chance to show off his more serious acting abilities, a drama where he was a hard boiled detective investigating a series of murders in a quiet, understated film noir. It was an Academy Award winning performance that made him the man every director wanted the chance to work with.

His agent, a soft spoken Japanese man who also happened to be his best friend, had insisted that a romantic drama would show his flexibility as an actor and truly cement him as one of Hollywood's finest. He'd agreed to it, thinking it would be a walk in the park compared to the other roles he'd taken on.

What he didn't realize was that Francis Bonnefoy was insane, and incredibly serious about his romance. Whatever Alfred did, it wasn't enough. Not enough passion, Francis claimed over and over. Then there was Natalia, who was a brilliant actress, but insufferable to deal with in person. And, of course, the fans. They'd gone crazy when news had spread that Alfred F. Jones was filming a romance movie. He was the subject of every girl's fantasy now, if he hadn't been before.

It was an utterly terrible idea, after all.

Francis sighed dramatically and ran a hand through his long hair as he lowered the megaphone he'd been shouting at Alfred through. He got out of his chair and started yelling what sounded like very angry words in French, and Alfred cringed. That couldn't be good. The producer hurriedly called an hour break and shuffled the ranting Frenchman away.

Alfred turned from the exasperated looks the rest of the cast and crew were giving him and mopped the thickly pancaked make up off his face and put on his glasses. He wasn't doing anything wrong, they just had ridiculous expectations for something as pointless as a romance movie. A chick flick. He just needed his pretty face and the girls would go wild, even if his heart wasn't in the acting he did.

He thought about grabbing a bite to eat at the closest fast food joint he could find (if such a thing even existed in frou frou England) and winding down a little before he was subjected to more stress, but then the reporters and paparazzi were on him like locusts the second he stepped off the set.

"Alfred, how is the movie going?"

"Will this be your greatest accomplishment of your career as predicted, Alfred?"

"How is it working with the beautiful Natalia Arlovskaya?"

"Is Francis crafting the magnum opus he promised?"

Alfred pulled his hood over his head and ran through the crowd, only to be met by a gaggle of screaming fan girls (and a few boys) who wanted autographs or to touch him or to get their picture taken with him. He was lucky he'd done all his own stunts in his action flicks, because that made the acrobatics and dexterity required to escape from their clutches come much easier. He managed to shake the fans and then he ran, as fast as he could, as far as his legs would carry him.

He'd been hoping that shooting his new film in a foreign country meant he'd be able to enjoy his downtime in peace. Actually get to walk around and mingle without anyone recognizing him and wanting something from him. Apparently his fame wasn't just limited to the States, he realized with dismay. He was tired, and wanted some Alfred time again, for the first time since he'd been a wide-eyed hopeful who'd hitchhiked his way to Hollywood with only the clothes on his back and a couple dollars to his name.

He wanted to get away.

Eventually his legs felt like Jello and his lungs were fit to burst, and Alfred wound up doubled over wheezing in an attempt to catch his breath and trying not to throw up at the same time. When he finally felt like he could move again without being very sick, he looked up to see just where he'd wound up.

He wasn't in the heart of London anymore, that was certain. It was a much sparser populated town, not quite the middle of nowhere village where no one would know who he was he'd hoped to stumble upon, but the lack of crowds everywhere was a definite plus. He pushed back his hood and then ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. That was when he caught sight of the sign adorning the building beside him.

The Frolicking Unicorn.

Alfred snorted and wondered what sort of freak would think that was a good name for their establishment. He had to admit that curiosity was getting the best of him as he walked over to the entrance. It appeared to be a pub of some kind, he noted as he opened the door and pushed his way inside. It was completely empty, and Alfred had the feeling it wasn't just because it was too early in the day to be drinking.

"Hello? Anyone here?" he called into the seemingly desolate building. Part of him _wanted_ it to be empty, so he could hide out there until it was time to go back. The other, more dominate, part of him wanted at least _someone_ to be there to pay attention to him. It was why he wanted to get into show business in the first place. To be the one in the spotlight that people paid attention to. He just didn't want every last moment of his life under permanent scrutiny.

When there was no answer, he prepared to make himself comfortable in one of the plush chairs by a fireplace. But suddenly a door in the back opened and a very irritated looking man came stomping towards him. A very angry man with the biggest eyebrows Alfred had ever seen. They were enormous, and Alfred didn't even pay attention to the man's gesticulating, he was so entranced by the size of those eyebrows.

"Oi! Closed, we're closed! Are you even listening?" The man squawked and waved his hands in Alfred's face, effectively snapping him out of his daze.

"E-Eyebrows," Alfred croaked in reply, which definitely wasn't the correct thing to say and he knew it. The man's face turned bright red and he started waving the broom he'd been carrying wildly at Alfred.

"Out! Get out!" He yelled and ushered Alfred back towards the door.

"Hey, hey! Hang on a second, you gotta let me stay here for a little while!" Alfred attempted while he wildly dodged the broom.

"Absolutely not! Now get out and never come back!" The man took one last swipe with his broom and Alfred took that as an opportunity to grab the handle and stop the man from waving it at him again. Mr. enormous eyebrows froze and stared in shock.

"You have to let me stay here. I need a place to hide for a little while," Alfred said firmly and stubbornly held onto the broom as the man thrashed and tried to pull it away.

"Why? Who the hell are you?"

Alfred froze and lost his grip on the broom in the process. Was Eyebrows kidding?

"Are you serious?" he asked incredulously, and earned a whack to the head with the broom for his trouble.

"Of course I'm serious!"

Alfred had to grin then, deliriously, and he ran a hand through his hair again as he laughed in relief.

"All right, you _have_ to let me stay here now! Name your price, whatever it is, I'll pay it!"

It was Eyebrows's turn to freeze, but he just as quickly regained his composure and started poking Alfred with the broom handle. "There's no price you can pay, now get out!"

Alfred grabbed the broom and roughly pulled it out of the man's hands, causing him to stumble forward. "Seriously, whatever you want, I'll pay it. Money's not an object, I just need somewhere to hide for awhile."

"From what? I'm not about to shelter a murderer or thief!"

"No no no, it's nothing like that! Really! It's just… Well, you may not know who I am, but a lot of other people do and I'd really like a break from them," Alfred explained and held up his hands to show that he wasn't armed or planning anything underhanded.

"For the last time, no! Kindly get out before I have you forcibly removed!" Eyebrows shouted and started pushing Alfred now that he'd lost his broom.

"All right! All right!" Alfred acquiesced and left the pub. He turned to try to ask again when he was outside and the door was promptly slammed in his face. He heard the unmistakable sound of several locks being bolted, and Alfred groaned.

"Geez, what the hell crawled up your ass and died?" he muttered to the air. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and leaned against the side of the building. It had started to rain, so although he was due back on the set soon, he didn't want to leave. Especially since there was someone who had no idea who he was. Perhaps if he turned on some of the old patented Alfred charm, he'd be able to convince Eyebrows to let him hide out in his "Frolicking Unicorn" for a few days so he could finally enjoy a little peace and quiet. Francis and Kiku, in particular, were going to kill him, but they wouldn't get their "passion" if he didn't get a chance to relax.

He pulled his hood back over his head and ducked into the nearby alleyway to wait. Eyebrows would have to make an appearance sooner or later.

* * *

If he'd been back on the set, he'd be warm and dry, with a hot cup of coffee and a cute girl fawning over him and keeping him company. He'd be completely taken care of and not shivering and drenched in the cold, English rain.

But then, Francis would probably also be in his face, screaming and ranting about how Alfred was ruining the "pièce de résistance" of his movie, and why couldn't he understand the importance of l'amour? And the paparazzi would be snapping picture after picture of him trying to brush his teeth. Just the thought made him all the more resolved to get away for awhile.

Alfred pulled his shoulders inward and bounced up and down on his feet to try to keep warm. He'd been standing out there in the rain for probably close to an hour and Eyebrows had yet to show his face again. He was probably warm inside and watching Alfred get rained on with a cup of tea in his hand and a smirk on his face. Alfred scowled at the thought and turned to go pound on the door and demand to be let in when a figure with an umbrella appeared at the end of the alleyway.

"Still out here, are you?" Eyebrows called out, exasperated. Alfred didn't move or respond. "Don't you have somewhere else to go?"

"I told you, I want to get away from those people for awhile," Alfred snapped in reply. Normally he'd be a bit more cordial, especially when he wanted something, but he was soaked to his skin and freezing cold, and not to mention starving on top of it. They stood for a few moments, just staring at each other as if waiting for the other to back down, and then Eyebrows sighed.

"You'll catch your death of cold out here, and I won't be held responsible for the death of an idiot. Come on."

Alfred just blinked in shock as Eyebrows turned and headed back towards the entrance of the building, but then sighed and turned with an impatient expression on his face when Alfred didn't move.

"Well? Are you going to come inside or not?"

"Oh! Right right," Alfred stammered and ran after the irritable man. He was ushered back into the pub and was immediately accosted by the welcoming heat radiating from the roaring fire in the fireplace. He started to drift over to it when he took a folded up umbrella to the gut and doubled over.

"Shoes and jumper _off_. I'll not have you tracking water into my clean pub," Eyebrows said firmly and skulked off before Alfred could respond. He grumbled, but agreed that it would be better to get the wet clothes off before he warmed up. With some effort he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his hoodie, part of him wanting to ditch the shirt and pants, too, but he could only imagine what sort of reaction Eyebrows would have towards that.

The second the hoodie was off and dropped into a dripping mess by the door, Alfred took a towel to the face and quickly pulled it away to reveal Eyebrows scowling at him with folded arms.

"Tell me again why you're here?" Eyebrows asked curtly and tapped his foot.

Alfred scowled in return as he dried his hair. "I told you. There's some people who won't leave me alone that I want to hide from," he replied just as curtly.

"And what did you steal? Who did you kill?" Eyebrows lifted his chin then, as if trying to make himself look bigger, or tougher perhaps. Alfred had to scoff at that, knowing that if he really _was_ some kind of criminal, he could take Eyebrows any day.

"For the last time, it's not like that! I just have a lot of pressure put on me and I'm sick of it. I just want to be somewhere where no one knows me and doesn't expect anything of me," Alfred admitted and stared down at the floor so he wouldn't have to face the other man's scrutiny.

There was a brief pause and then Eyebrows snorted. "I'm sorry to tell you, but you'll not find such a place here. Should you stay here, you'll be expected to earn your keep."

Alfred's head shot up and he furrowed his brow at the smug look Eyebrows was giving him. "I told you, money's not an object. Whatever you want me to pay, I can-"

"And _I_ told _you_ that there's no price you can pay. If you wish to remain here, you _will_ earn your keep."

Alfred suddenly realized what was going on. It was a challenge. Eyebrows was expecting him to back off and leave like he couldn't handle it. Well, he'd show that smug bastard what was what.

"Fine. I'll do it," Alfred hissed and lifted his own chin in defiance.

The smirk on Eyebrows's face wavered for an instant, but it was back immediately and with renewed arrogance. Eyebrows walked away and disappeared for a moment, and then he was back with some sort of fabric on his arm and a mop and bucket in his hands.

"Here are some dry clothes. They'll be a bit small, but they'll have to do for now. Your first task is to clean up this mess you've made in my entryway. While you are here, you will refer to me as Master Kirkland," Eyebrows said with a entirely too pompous air about him.

"Oh, hell no. I'm not about to-"

"Ah ah! I could just as easily report you to the authorities for trespassing."

Alfred wanted nothing more than to punch that smirk right off Eyebrows's face. What a bastard, he thought as his eye twitched. "Oh, please. Forgive my audacity, _Master Kirkland_," he seethed through his teeth in an utterly sarcastic tone.

Eyebrows rolled his eyes, but waved a dismissive hand. "That'll have to do. I suppose I'll need something to call you as well, won't I?"

"My name is Alfred," he responded and looked over the outfit he'd been offered. A sweater vest. Someone shoot me, he thought in dismay.

"Alfred, then. My name is Arthur Kirkland, but you'll do well to remember what you're supposed to call me. I'll give you a moment to change," Arthur called over his shoulder and then disappeared into a back room.

Alfred grumbled at the situation he'd thrown himself into, but reminded himself that the peace and quiet he'd otherwise enjoy would be worth it. Not like he didn't know the value of a good hard day's work, anyway. It was what he'd done before he'd made it out to Hollywood. He'd done contracting work with his father, good honest work, and had been expected to carry on the family business when he'd decided that he'd rather break into show business. He'd written a few letters back home and never gotten a reply, so he'd just faced up with the reality that his parents had probably all but disowned him by that point.

Such unpleasant memories were pushed to the back of his mind again when he managed to squeeze into the clothes that Arthur had given him. They were _definitely_ too small, and a sweater vest was added to a list of things Alfred swore he'd never wear again as long as he lived. But they were dry, so they'd have to do for the moment. He folded up his wet clothes and placed them in a neater pile by the door before he set to work with the mop.

It was then that Arthur decided to make his reappearance and he appraised Alfred and the work he was doing.

"I see you're not _completely_ useless," he sniffed and retrieved the sopping pile of clothes Alfred had left.

"I see you're not completely useless," Alfred mimicked quietly in a whiny, poor imitation of Arthur's accent.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur asked, apparently having noticed, and Alfred swore under his breath.

"Nothing, I was just wondering why you have no customers."

Arthur bristled slightly and walked stiffly away with the wet clothes. "My waitress is on holiday and I can't run my pub without her. She's due to return in a day or two, then business will resume as usual. Until then, you will keep this place in tip-top condition, are we clear?"

"Crystal," Alfred replied and rolled his eyes and sighed when Arthur slammed a door in the back. Perhaps dealing with Francis and his ranting wasn't nearly as bad as he'd made it out to be.


	22. Never Say You're Sorry

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty Two: Never Say You're Sorry  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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What is there to say about a young man who died? One who had barely begun his life before he was gone?

There's nothing he can think of that isn't completely saccharine. Not that he would ever voice those things out loud anyway, but given the circumstances, he can't help but think of something he could say. Something that would no doubt earn him boisterous laughter at his expense.

Yes... _His_ laughter was always loud. Sometimes obnoxious, sometimes infectious, but always loud. Then there was his smile. Warmer and brighter than any sunshine. He had blue eyes that put the sky to shame.

_Had_.

That's right, he's gone. They'll never argue again. Never kiss. Never hold each other. He'll never see those blue eyes or that smile ever again.

The lump that has taken up residence in his throat makes itself known again and he swallows hard. He should probably cry, that would be the normal thing to do, but there are no tears, just emptiness.

The sun is shining as he looks out over the lake, a place they'd gone to many times before, and he can hear the distant laughter of children. A pair of swans swim serenely on the surface of the water nearby. Birds that mate for life.

He can't help but feel that he's being mocked.

* * *

"Remind me again why we're going to use a _public_ library when the university has plenty of superior ones for our perusal?"

"Because one of the aides is hot. You'll see."

Arthur sighed as he followed his peer (not friend, mind you) into the sorry excuse for a building for what was meant to be a study session for an exam the next day, but was clearly turning into another of Gilbert's failed attempts at getting a date.

Naturally, once they were inside Gilbert went straight for the information desk where a pretty girl with long brown hair clipped on one side with a flower was typing away at a computer. As soon as she looked up and saw Gilbert approaching, her expression darkened instantly. Gilbert just smirked and leaned over the desk with one hand.

Arthur, meanwhile, rolled his eyes and opted to keep his distance. No doubt Gilbert was prattling on about how "awesome" he was and how she'd be missing out if she didn't agree to go on a date with his awesome self and other such nonsense. Judging from the condition of her cheeks, which were rapidly flushing with anger, she wasn't falling for his shenanigans. Rather, she stood up out of her chair and started to snap back at him. Then Gilbert's cheeks flushed with indignation and he started to yell at her in return. Several affronted faces from various parts of the library turned to look at the arguing pair in irritation. Arthur groaned and decided that it would be a good time to intervene before Gilbert got himself banned for life from yet another establishment.

However, he didn't get very far before someone else, a blond boy with glasses, appeared from behind a display of magazines and gently eased the girl away from Gilbert, who she looked ready to strangle or perhaps strike with the encyclopedia volume nearby.

"This guy bothering you, Liz?" the boy asked, somehow managing to look both threatening in Gilbert's direction and sympathetic in the girl's direction all at once.

"I can take care of this, Alfred," the girl, Liz apparently, insisted and tried to struggle against the hold Alfred had on her, though it was a futile effort. He held firmly onto her, especially when she thrashed against him after Gilbert commented derisively on how she needed someone else to save her.

"That's enough. You better leave now quietly or I'll be forced to let her go," Alfred said to Gilbert, who opened his mouth to say something that would be no doubt damning. That was when Arthur quickly closed the distance and tugged on Gilbert's shoulder.

"That won't be necessary. We'll just be leaving now," Arthur said as calmly as he could manage when he really wanted to throttle Gilbert himself, with or without help from the girl he'd managed to infuriate.

Alfred's eyes narrowed at the sudden appearance of Arthur and he scoffed. "I get it. You rich, university bastards are bored and need some entertainment from us poor folks who need to actually _work_ to get through school since we don't get a free ride from our parents."

Arthur also narrowed his eyes at Alfred's audacity. He didn't need to be told off by some brat who had no idea what the hell he was talking about. He heard Gilbert snickering at his side, but he ignored him.

"And just who the hell are you to speak in such a way?" Arthur asked irritably.

"Someone who is smart enough to realize that a stupid jerk like you isn't worth giving the time of day," Alfred replied with an infuriatingly cocky grin. At his side, his friend Liz was looking on with what could only be described as delight. She looked between the two of them with a twinkle in her eye, her previous scuffle with Gilbert apparently forgotten.

"I'll have you know that I wouldn't even think to give you the time of day!" Arthur snapped. He was rather ashamed to admit (only to himself) how much that boy was ruffling his feathers, but as a Kirkland, he'd been brought up to not accept such slanderous comments.

"And that's why you're stupid," Alfred replied smoothly, cocky grin still firmly in place on his face.

Arthur squared his jaw and lifted his chin in defiance. Such an impudent brat.

"Shall we settle this like gentlemen then? There is a coffee shop down the street from here, we shall engage in a battle of wits, and we'll see who the 'stupid' one truly is."

Alfred shrugged and continued to grin. "You're on, buddy. I'll meet you there in an hour."

"An hour," Arthur confirmed and he turned to leave, dragging Gilbert roughly with him.

Once outside, Arthur released his hold on Gilbert, who burst into laughter. Arthur scowled at him until finally the other boy's laughter dissolved into the occasional snicker. He wiped at his eyes and smirked at Arthur.

"Did you just ask that guy out on a date?" he asked in between chortles. Arthur's cheeks instantly flared and he smacked Gilbert upside the head for his impertinence.

"Of course not, you dolt! We have a score to settle, that's all!"

"Whatever you say," Gilbert said with a laugh as he moved to leave.

Arthur followed shortly after, still fuming, but, despite his great alarm at the prospect, he found himself thinking that behind those glasses, Alfred had rather nice blue eyes.

* * *

**A/N: _Love Story_ parody. :)**


	23. The Morning After

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty Three: The Morning After  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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'Dream on. Dream on. Dream on. Dream until the dream comes true… Dream on. Dream on…'

A groan came from a mountain of blankets and a hand reached blindly from underneath the pile to slam on the snooze button of the alarm clock that blared the offending Aerosmith song. The hand retracted back into the pile of blankets and then everything was still until finally a messy head of blond hair poked out. Bloodshot blue eyes blinked blearily until they were covered with the pair of glasses that rested next to the alarm clock, then they stared up at the ceiling.

God damn did Alfred's head hurt.

He groaned again and clutched at his forehead, as if that would somehow quell the feeling that his head was in a vice. His mouth tasted like something had crawled in there and died, then rotted for a few days, too. He scowled as he stared up at the ceiling and promised himself that he was never going to a party thrown by "the Bad Friends Trio" ever again.

The last things he clearly remembered were agreeing to try a little rum in his Coke, and then he'd been talked into smoking a hookah after being assured over and over that there was nothing but a little tobacco in there. Perhaps it was because he'd already had too much rum that he'd been mesmerized by all the smoke and the water inside the glass and had agreed.

Everything after that was a blank spot in his memory. He wasn't even sure how he'd gotten home.

At any rate, he'd have to drink an entire gallon of water to even hope to get rid of his pounding headache. He stretched out his stiff muscles, not wanting to know just _why_ they were so unbearably stiff, but then his hand brushed against something in the bed next to him. He froze and slowly turned his head to see a very human shaped mound lying underneath the blanket next to him. With a slightly trembling hand he reached over and carefully pulled back the blanket to reveal another shaggy head of blond hair.

Oh _shit_.

Alfred gasped and skittered away from the other body, only to fall with a loud thud onto the floor. He scrambled into a squatting position and peered over the mattress to where the person was groaning and beginning to stir, as well. As the person sat up, it became clear that it was another man. A naked man. A naked man with enormous eyebrows. A naked man with enormous eyebrows and partially dyed hair and various piercings. Apparently his wasted self had weird tastes. With that thought, it was about then that he finally realized that he was naked, too.

Oh _shit,_ indeed.

The man clutched at his head, as well, and then looked blearily around the room until his vacant gaze settled on Alfred's.

"Uh…hi," Alfred said hesitantly. The man blinked at him, then his eyes abruptly widened and he fell off the bed, too.

"Bloody fucking… What are you doing here?" the man squawked as he scrambled to his feet, then immediately winced and clutched at his backside. British. His wasted self most certainly had weird tastes.

"What do you think? Besides, it's _my_ room you're in, you know," Alfred grumbled in reply, his cheeks beginning to burn in embarrassment.

He was now beginning to realize exactly _what_ had gone on. Besides the telltale trail of clothes littering the floor, there was a dent in the wall from where the doorknob had slammed into it, plus another dent in the wall further down the wall from an unknown source. His floor lamp lay shattered on the floor and the curtains had been pulled off their rod. The various trinkets on his dresser were on the floor, as well, and the dresser itself had most definitely been moved.

His cheeks flared as he took in the chaos that used to be his bedroom. At the very least he could have remembered _that_ detail.

Alfred swallowed thickly and tried to suppress the blush that was burning his cheeks as he looked at the steadily growing horror on the other man's face as he too looked around the room.

"I take it you don't remember anything either?" Alfred asked, though he already knew, but didn't really want to acknowledge, the answer.

"No," the man croaked and he sunk back onto the bed and buried his head in his hands. Alfred fidgeted and bit at his lip, at a loss of what to say that wouldn't be some of his famed tactlessness.

"I know it doesn't really mean much now, but I'm really sorry," Alfred mumbled miserably.

The man's head shot up in surprise and he just gaped at Alfred for a moment before he shook his head. "No…no…it's…I'm sorry, too. It seems at the time we both…wanted it."

He averted his face again, which was also turning a deep shape of red, and then a horribly awkward silence fell on them. The man finally stood and started to gather his clothes, which were intermixed with Alfred's on the floor. Alfred realized then that his precious Ramones t-shirt had been torn. Torn off his body.

He _really_ wished he could remember the night before.

"Can I take you home? Make you breakfast, at least?" Alfred spoke up and the man froze in the middle of pulling up his underwear. When he didn't reply or move, Alfred swallowed and tried again. "My name's Alfred…Alfred Jones."

"…Arthur Kirkland," the man finally replied and continued to dress himself once more. Alfred relaxed slightly and followed Arthur's lead.

The awkwardness didn't dispel at all, much to Alfred's disconcertion, but that was to be expected, he supposed. After all, the night before they had…well, apparently he went a little crazy when he was under the influence.

Alfred carefully toed around the mess that surrounded his dresser and pulled out a clean, not torn t-shirt and pulled it over his head in time to see that Arthur was fully dressed and looking around for his shoes. When Alfred caught sight of Arthur's t-shirt, he grinned.

"The Ramones are way better than The Clash, you know," he said cheekily with a smirk.

Arthur snorted. "You _would_ think that, yank."

"Nah, it's true! We did it first and did it best, just like rock and roll," Alfred scoffed. All he got in reply was an unimpressed look from Arthur. He really did have enormous eyebrows, but Alfred was beginning to think that they were an endearing trait, rather than an eyesore.

"So…how about that breakfast? I make a mean stack of pancakes," Alfred tried hopefully. Arthur paused as he laced up his sneakers, and gave Alfred a somewhat desperate look for a split second, but it was quickly replaced by the indifference that was probably normal for him.

"I suppose," Arthur said flatly and Alfred grinned brightly. He quickly suppressed that into a softer smile, because it wasn't as though they could magic away what had happened, but at the very least they could start again from there. Make the most of things.

"And even though it's a little strange…it's nice to meet you, Arthur," Alfred said and held open the door for Arthur to walk through. Arthur just nodded indifferently and stepped into the hallway. Alfred pulled the door shut behind him, not wanting to think about the mess in his room for the moment, and followed Arthur into his kitchen.


	24. Humming the Bassline

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty Four: Humming the Bassline  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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When everyone else was screaming over the lead singer or the lead guitarist at a concert, Alfred would be the one listening for that pulsing rhythm underneath it all.

Of course he had a great appreciation for awesome vocals and guitar work, and he envied how badass certain drummers could be, but once he'd taken in the song at face value, he'd be in the back humming the bassline.

* * *

He was going to start a band.

It was a brilliant idea he presented to his closest musically inclined friends after attending another rock concert. After doing percussion in band all through school, he felt he was ready to break into underground performances in college. They'd already done a few experimental performances anyway, so it was just going a step forward by actually starting an official band.

"It's perfect! I'll be the drummer, Kiku will take lead guitar, Lizzie's got lead vocals, and you'll be the rhythm guitarist!" Alfred exclaimed brightly to his unimpressed twin, Matthew.

"Why do I have to be the rhythm guitarist?" he asked irritably, but predictably he was ignored as Alfred rushed over to Elizaveta instead.

"You think you can convince Roderich to be our keyboardist? Tell him he'll be like our Billy Preston!"

Elizaveta laughed. "I might be able to get him to join us sometimes? You know he won't want to be a regular. He's a piano performance major, this is below him."

"Yeah, I bet it would be… Oh well! We'll just have to make sure we don't pick a lot of songs that require keyboards. You're in, right, Kiku?"

"It's a fine idea," Kiku agreed with a stiff nod.

"Awesome! So all that leaves is finding a bassist!" Alfred declared with a fist pump. "So we'll just put up flyers for an audition and we'll have us a full band in no time!"

"Do we really need a bassist, Al? I'm sure we could get along just fine without one…" Matthew tried to interject. That time he finally got Alfred's attention, who gave his brother a positively scandalized look.

"No bassist? Are you crazy? The bassline is the heartbeat of a song! What would 'Billie Jean' be without its bassline? Just another song, that's what!"

"I don't think it's _that_ big of a deal," Matt protested, but it was clear that Alfred had made up his mind.

"We'll hold an audition for a bassist. Worse comes to worse, you can try your hand, Mattie!"

"Oh, thank you, Al. You're so kind," Matt grumbled, but was ignored once more as Alfred started drawing up plans for the audition.

* * *

It was a disaster. Alfred held his head in his hands as yet another person tried to audition for parts that had already been filled. The turn out was bad enough to begin with without anyone auditioning for the intended part. Was there no one on campus who played a bass guitar?

The frown that had taken up residence on Alfred's face deepened tenfold as the next person walked onto the stage and stood in the center.

"What are you doing here, Ivan?" Alfred grumbled at the pleasantly smiling Russian standing center stage.

"I'm auditioning for the band, da?" he responded pleasantly and held up what looked like a rusty pipe. Alfred squinted and realized it really _was_ a pipe.

"With a pipe?" he sputtered incredulously.

"For drums!" Ivan said brightly and waved the pipe around as if beating drums.

"That position has been filled," Alfred groaned into his hand. His head hurt.

"Pardon?" Ivan asked and stopped waving the pipe around.

"The position's been filled!" Alfred yelled and waved for Ivan to leave. "Now get out!"

Alfred was too occupied with moaning about the sad state of his life to notice that Ivan seemed to adopt a terrifying and intimidating aura as he walked off the stage, but Matthew shivered at his side.

Elizaveta patted Alfred's arm comfortingly and smiled. "There there, Alfred. Cheer up!"

Alfred removed his head from his hands and smiled weakly. "Yeah, I guess we'll just have to-"

"I'm not playing bass," Matt said flatly before Alfred could even suggest it.

"…go without." He sighed and motioned for everyone to get up. "Sorry for wasting your afternoon, guys. Let's just go."

They'd barely started to stand up when the door to the auditorium opened and another person stepped inside. Alfred scowled, but that faded when he got a look at the guitar the person was carrying. A bass guitar.

"I hope I'm not too late to audition," the person said. A blond boy, British, dressed in leather. He walked up onto the stage and set up the small amp he was carrying along with adjusting the machine heads on his guitar as he plucked delicately at the strings. It was about then that Alfred suddenly recognized who it was, and his heart pounded.

"Wait a minute, you're-"

"Arthur Kirkland, pleasure to meet you."

"But aren't you part of-"

"'Iggy and the Bad Touch Trio'? Please don't remind me of that dreadful experience," Arthur said wearily. Alfred just grinned brightly. He trembled in excitement as he sunk back into his chair.

"Well guys, looks like we have our new bassist!" he exclaimed happily.

"Wait a minute, just like that?" Matthew asked, but no one heard him.

"I agree with Alfred," Kiku said.

"No objections here!" Elizaveta agreed.

"So it's settled then! Arthur here will be our-"

"Hold on a moment," Arthur interrupted and everyone turned to look at him. "I'm not just auditioning for you, but you're also auditioning for me. I'd like to hear how well you play before I agree to anything."

Alfred looked among the faces of his friends and they all nodded. "Sure thing, Artie! Just give us a minute to set up!"

He'd been hoping to find a bassist right away and get some practice in, so his drum set was already in place on stage. It was just a matter of getting more amps and a microphone plugged in.

Alfred excitedly clambered into place and beamed at Arthur, who raised an eyebrow in reply.

"Day Tripper," Arthur said simply and Alfred nodded enthusiastically.

"Yeah, we know that one! We tried it before!"

"Wait a minute!" Elizaveta said and rushed over to where her things had been dropped. She returned with a tambourine and flashed a thumbs up. "All right, ready!"

Alfred nodded at Kiku, who nodded in reply and started playing the opening guitar riff. Arthur came in with his bass not long after and Alfred was so excited by the fact that he finally had a bassist that he nearly forgot to come in with the drums.

But there it was. The bassline. The pulsing heartbeat that had been missing from their previous sessions. And Arthur was good. Subtle, but effective. You might miss it if you weren't listening for it, but you could feel it.

"Got a good reason," Elizaveta started to sing while playing her tambourine. Her mezzo soprano vocals were always lovely, something she'd perfected after knowing Roderich all her life and picking up on some of his musical talent. Her slight accent added a certain charm to her vocals, as well.

"For taking the easy way out," Arthur joined in singing and Elizaveta looked in surprise over at him. Alfred grinned as they sang together; Arthur's vocal harmonies complemented Elizaveta's perfectly. He stole a glance over at Kiku, who was smiling even as he concentrated on his guitar work, and even the skeptical Matthew looked impressed.

They were at their A-game now and they all knew it.

Alfred beamed as they finished the song and looked expectantly over at Arthur. He pulled the guitar strap over his head and looked at each one of them individually.

"Yes, I'll suppose you'll do," he finally said and Alfred threw his fist in the air.

"Awesome! Oh yeah, I'm Alfred and I play the drums obviously. Kiku over there is our lead guitarist, Matthew is our rhythm guitarist, and Elizaveta's the one rocking the vocals," Alfred said and motioned to his friends as he introduced them, each one acknowledging Arthur with a smile or nod.

"And does the band have a name?" Arthur asked as he gave each member a curt nod.

"We're called New England Clam Chowder! But chowder is spelled with a 'K' so that we can shorten it to 'NECK'!"

"Wait, when did we decide on that?" Matt's voice asked the air.

"That…doesn't make any sense," Arthur said with a furrowed brow.

"Never mind, never mind," Alfred said and rushed over so he could shake Arthur's hand. He figured it might sound a little weird if he told Arthur how excited he was to finally have a bassist, because it was always the bassline he was interested in more than anything else, so he opted for firmly shaking the boy's hand instead. They were really a band now, and things could only get more awesome from there.

"Welcome to NECK, Arthur!"

* * *

**A/N: They're playing "Day Tripper" by The Beatles. :) Btw, if you wanted to see the night before of the last story, check out Ellarose C's story "Copperfire"!**


	25. You Are Likely to Be Eaten By a Grue

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty Five: You Are Likely to Be Eaten By a Grue  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: This one is done a little different, in the style of a text adventure game like Zork. Unfortunately the formatting didn't survive the transition to this website, so I recommend going to my profile and reading it at my writing journal on LiveJournal instead.**

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Welcome to SCONE!

a daring dungeon adventure

copyright 2010 Kiku Honda

Now Loading... ... ...

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You are standing before the south side of a gated fence of an elegant, vine covered house. The windows are shut tight, except for one window on the second floor that is slightly ajar. There is a forest that surrounds the house on all sides.

**In Front of House**

**| Moves: 0 | Score: 0 | **go west

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You are in a dense forest that surrounds you on all sides.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 1 | Score: 0 | ** go west

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You are in a dense forest that surrounds you on all sides.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 2 | Score: 0 | **go west

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You are in a dense forest that surrounds you on all sides. There is a stick on the ground here.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 3 | Score: 0 | **take stick

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Taken.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 4 | Score: 0 | **go east

__

You are in a dense forest that surrounds you on all sides.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 5 | Score: 0 | **go east

__

You are in a dense forest that surrounds you on all sides.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 6 | Score: 0 | ** go east

__

You are in a dense forest that surrounds you on all sides.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 7 | Score: 0 | ** go east

__

You are in a dense forest that surrounds you on all sides.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 8 | Score: 0 | ** what the hell i should be back at the house by now

__

You have phrased this in a way I don't understand.

**Forest**

**| Moves: 8 | Score: 0 | ** new game

__

Are you sure you wish to start a new game?

**Forest**

**| Moves: 8 | Score: 0 | ** yes

__

Now Loading... ... ...

...

You are standing before the south side of a gated fence of an elegant, vine covered house. The windows are shut tight, except for one window on the second floor that is slightly ajar. There is a forest that surrounds the house on all sides.

**In Front of House**

**| Moves: 0 | Score: 0 | **go north

__

You find yourself in an extravagant garden in front of the house that is filled with many species of flowers and highly detailed topiary displays. There is a covered gazebo on the west end. The side of the house is covered in what appear to be climbable vines.

If you listen closely, you can hear faint laughter.

**Garden**

**| Moves: 1 | Score: 0 | **open door

__

The front door is locked tight.

**Garden**

**| Moves: 2 | Score: 0 | ** climb vines

__

You are on the terrace of the second story of the house. The view of the garden from here is spectacular.

There is one window on the far end of the terrace that is slightly ajar.

**Terrace**

**| Moves: 3 | Score: 0 | ** open window

__

You open the window enough that you should be able to get inside with some effort.

**Terrace**

**| Moves: 4 | Score: 0 | ** enter window

__

It's a tight squeeze, but you manage to crawl inside and find yourself in the master bedroom of the house. The king-sized canopy bed looks to have been recently slept in. On the dresser are various trinkets including a rose, pipe, tomato and a panda charm.

To the east is an open door to a bathroom and to the north is another closed door.

**Master Bedroom**

**| Moves: 5 | Score: 10 | ** go east

__

You are in the master bedrooms joint bathroom. To the west is the doorway to the master bedroom. Resting on the sink is a pair of tweezers.

**Master Bathroom**

**| Moves: 6 | Score: 10 | ** take tweezers

__

Taken.

**Master Bathroom**

**| Moves: 7 | Score: 30 | ** go west

__

You are in the master bedroom.

**Master Bedroom**

**| Moves: 8 | Score: 30 | ** go north

__

You are on the landing of the second floor of the house. To the south is the master bedroom, a closed door lies to the north, and an open doorway to the west reveals a staircase leading upwards. To the east is a window. To the northeast is a staircase leading downwards.

**Second Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 9 | Score: 30 | ** go west

__

You have moved into a pitch dark area. Take care or you will be eaten by a monster.

**?**

**| Moves: 10 | Score: 30 | ** go east

__

You are on the second floor landing.

**Second Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 11 | Score: 30 | ** go northeast

__

You are on the first floor landing of the house. To the south is the front door, which is bolted shut. To the west is a staircase leading upwards. To the east is an open archway leading to a kitchen. To the north is another archway to a drawing room.

**First Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 12 | Score: 30 | ** go south

__

The door is bolted shut.

**First Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 13 | Score: 30 | ** unlock door

__

The lock appears to be enchanted with some sort of magic.

**First Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 14 | Score: 30 | ** break down door

__

You cant do that.

**First Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 15 | Score: 30 | ** go to hell

__

There is no entrance to hell that you can see here.

**First Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 15 | Score: 30 | ** fuck you

__

Watch your language or I'll have to wash your mouth out with soap!

**First Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 15 | Score: 30 | ** look

__

You are on the first floor landing of the house. To the south is the front door, which is bolted shut. To the west is a staircase leading upwards. To the east is an open archway leading to a kitchen. To the north is another archway to a drawing room.

**First Floor Landing**

**| Moves: 16 | Score: 30 | ** go north

__

You are in the drawing room of the house. There is a large bay window to the north and an archway leading to a staircase to the south.

There is a comfortable looking settee here that is already occupied by a gentleman with the largest eyebrows you have ever seen in your life. He is drinking a cup of tea and appears to have not noticed you yet.

**Drawing Room**

**| Moves: 17 | Score: 30 | ** speak to man

__

The man is startled from his reverie and spills his tea on his lap. He lets out a string of colorful words that are most certainly not appropriate for teatime before he turns to glare at you.

**Drawing Room**

**| Moves: 18 | Score: 30 | ** apologize to man

__

The man is honestly surprised by your apology and his face turns a bright shade of red.

"Don't worry about it," he stammers and looks away. He finally looks back at you with his gigantic eyebrows furrowed in suspicion.

"How did you get inside?" he asks.

**Drawing Room**

**| Moves: 19 | Score: 30 | ** apologize to man

__

The man's face turns an even brighter shade of red and he sputters incoherently.

After a moment he looks back at you with a friendlier gaze and reaches for a tray of what looks like rocks.

"Would you like to try a scone?" he asks.

**Drawing Room**

**| Moves: 20 | Score: 30 | ** eat scone

__

The mans eyes light up in happiness as you take the blackened piece of food. As soon as you put it in your mouth, you instantly regret it. Although the man is watching you in eager anticipation, you are only aware of the blinding pain coursing through you at the utterly horrible taste of the mans scones.

As your vision begins to fade, you find yourself wishing that you had listened to your common sense that tells you not to accept food, especially blackened imitations of food, from strangers!

****

***YOU HAVE DIED***

* * *

"What the hell?" Alfred shouted and nearly knocked his computer over as he sprang out of his chair. He ground his teeth in frustration as he whipped out his cellphone and selected a line from his list of contacts.

"Hello, Kiku Honda speaking," came his friends voice on the other line after a few rings.

"Kiku! What the hell is with that Scone game of yours? I ate the guys scones and I died!"

"Ah, so you _did_ eat the scones, as I expected! Arthur-san will be most pleased!"

"...what? Alfred replied dumbly after attempting and failing to parse his friends words.

"The man in the game is based on a friend I would like you to meet. His food is a bit...intolerable, so hell be pleased to know that there is someone out there who will try it!"

"Eh? Wait a minute, Kiku! I didn't mean-"

"I'll let Arthur-san know right away! Until later, Alfred-san, Kiku replied and disconnected before Alfred could get another word in.

Alfred shoved his phone back in his pocket and slid back into his computer chair. What a pain if hed have to experience in real life what he had in the game.

Speaking of the game, Alfred turned back to his monitor and opted to start a new game. Hed just have to see what would happen if he didn't apologize or take those killer scones.


	26. Don't Look Back In Anger

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty Six: Don't Look Back In Anger  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: A warning for self harm in this story.  
**

**

* * *

**

Arthur didn't think much of him at first glance. He was sloppy, unkempt. So unlike the celestial beings with whom he kept company.

Yet he himself was unorthodox in comparison to those same beings. Angels were meant to see beauty in everything and spread joy wherever they went. He saw the uglier side of the world wherever he went, and had developed a cynical streak that he struggled to hide.

So that person stretching and climbing out of his bed after hitting the snooze button for the tenth time was far from what he'd describe as one of God's beautiful creatures. He scratched at his messy head of blond hair as he awkwardly slipped his glasses onto his face with his other hand and made his way to his toilet. His boxers were barely hanging onto his hips, which made Arthur snort.

He'd been assigned to watch this boy, although he hadn't been given any indication as to why. Perhaps God had found out about his cynicism and was trying to teach him to find beauty in the most unlikely of places. He couldn't very well disobey a direct order, but he didn't think he'd be able to handle his life term with that pathetic slob.

A short time after, however, his charge reappeared, and Arthur nearly gasped. The slob that had entered seemed to have been replaced with a person so beautiful that he began to suspect that God had merely made a mistake and he was meant to retrieve an angel that had been sent to Earth instead.

He floated down from his perch on top of the wardrobe and knew that if he was in fact retrieving a misplaced angel that he'd be seen without having to reveal himself. Instead, he watched as the person looked right through him at the clock on the nightstand, then swore under his breath and rushed out the door. Arthur sighed in disappointment and deftly took flight to follow his charge.

Alfred F. Jones. An aspiring businessman who needed to be watched. That's all he knew, and all he'd been told. As he followed him on his morning routine, Arthur began to wonder why Alfred needed special attention. He was indeed sloppy, even though he had cleaned up his appearance, and above all lazy. He sat through his morning meeting scribbling on his notes instead of listening to the speaker. He ate a greasy hamburger for lunch and spilled sauce on his suit, though he only haphazardly cleaned it up before he buttoned up his jacket to hide the stain. Once again Arthur found himself wondering he was going to handle a life term watching this person, who, besides his rather startling good looks, was unremarkable.

He followed Alfred home after one of the most thoroughly boring and frustrating days of his entire existence, wishing that he could instead be in Heaven preparing tea with some of history's most beloved leaders. Alfred abruptly stopped when a football (although being American, Alfred would probably call it a soccer ball) hit him in the stomach. Arthur looked with Alfred across the street where a group of children were gathered. Two of the boys ran across just as Alfred picked up the fallen ball.

"Sorry, mister! Can we have our ball back?"

Alfred looked from the boys to the ball and back. "Which one of you kicked this?"

The smaller of the two boys gulped and pointed to the taller one. "It was him!"

The taller boy punched the smaller one's shoulder and then looked fearfully at Alfred, who grinned brightly and laughed.

"Not bad! You could put a little more spin into, though!"

The boys' faces brightened as relief washed over them, and Arthur couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Could you show us, mister?"

"Of course! I'm a hero, you know!"

Arthur watched in faint amusement as Alfred joined the boys in crossing the street, where he joined the game the children had started. So perhaps there was more to him than just sloppiness and laziness, but that still didn't explain why he needed to be watched. Divine protection wasn't granted to just anyone, after all. As dusk fell and the game ended, Alfred bid goodbye to the children, who begged him to come play with them again, and then he continued on his way to his apartment.

Perhaps Arthur's initial suspicions were correct and he was being taught a lesson in appreciating the beauty that could be found anywhere in the world, even in himself. Where his fellow angels were all beautiful and flawless, he had large, unsightly eyebrows that only accentuated the scowl he'd adopted long ago. Instead of miracles, he tended to miss the mark and make petty wishes come true.

He sighed over the sad state of his existence just in time for Alfred to crawl back into the sty that was his bed and set his alarm clock once again. Although Arthur could easily poke around in Alfred's things to find some clues as to why he'd been assigned this particular person, he opted to leave the apartment and enjoy a leisurely flight around town. If he was to find beauty in the world, it was easier to do so when he wasn't looking for it in people.

* * *

Alfred roused from sleep earlier the next morning, though instead of climbing out of his bed, he rolled out and fell onto the floor, where he lay for several minutes staring at the ceiling. Staring at the ceiling straight through the unimpressed face of Arthur, that is. His laziness was a sight to behold, and not a good one, at that.

Finally, Alfred climbed slowly to his feet and slouched his way to the toilet. Arthur heard the sink running and sighed. Another day, another opportunity to spend drinking tea and enjoying polite conversation missed. Arthur jerked to attention when he heard a hiss of pain come from his charge. He quickly landed on the floor and looked through the open door where Alfred could be seen standing before a mirror.

He had a disposable razor in his hand, but he wasn't using it to shave, that much was clear. His face was bare of shaving cream, and he was stubble free besides. Instead, across his cheek was a long cut, which was oozing blood down his cheek. He stared at his reflection, reaching up to smear the blood across his face with his fingers.

"Shit."

He reached into the sink and cupped water in his hands to splash across his face. He pulled out a bottle of alcohol which he dabbed across the cut he'd given himself, then he covered the offending wound with a bandage. He stared miserably at his reflection for several long moments before he quickly smiled brightly and mock shot at his reflection.

"Showtime," he said brightly, though Arthur was beginning to realize how very artificial it sounded.

Arthur watched in fascination as Alfred transformed again from a slob to a picture of perfect gentleman, but he now noticed the subtle lack of energy in each move. It was all sluggish, forced, something he did because he had to, not because he wanted to. He hurried out the door once more, and Arthur followed.

There was much more to Alfred than he'd previously suspected. Much, much more.

A mousy brunet with shoulder length met Alfred just outside his building that day, and he smiled pleasantly as Alfred approached. Alfred, in turn, grinned as he lifted his hand in greeting.

"Good morning, Alfred! …What happened to your cheek? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Toris. My hand slipped when I was shaving. Clumsy, right?"

They both laughed, and Arthur frowned. Yes, there was much more to Alfred than he'd previously suspected, but what, he didn't know. He'd just have to keep watching him to find out, then maybe he'd find out his purpose for watching him in the first place.

That day was much the same as the last, only with added comments about the wound on his cheek. Each time his story changed slightly. He had a faulty razor, or some noise upstairs startled him into pressing into his face too hard. Never that he'd done it on purpose. Because, of course, what reason would he have to do something like that to himself on purpose?

What reason, indeed.

It wasn't standard procedure, but Arthur was going to show himself to Alfred. Not as an angel, of course, but in a human disguise. He tucked himself into an alleyway that was on Alfred's route home and pulled out his wand. He tapped away his halo and wings, then twirled the wand around above his head to change his tunic into a respectable suit. He changed the wand into a mirror and carefully examined his appearance, which he felt adequately satisfied with. He tucked the wand away just in time to see Alfred walking by. He hurriedly ran out and called after him.

"Excuse me!"

Alfred turned around and looked blank until his eyes fell on Arthur, then they widened and his mouth fell open.

"Holy shit, those eyebrows, man!" he gasped, and Arthur twitched. It wasn't worth it. Direct order or not it wasn't worth it.

"Sorry, just…man, those eyebrows! So, uh…what's up?" Alfred hurriedly said and waved his hands in apology.

"You seemed upset, that's all. It's too fine a day to be unhappy, don't you agree?"

Alfred's expression went blank for a moment, only the briefest instant, but then it was artificially cheerful again. But Arthur had seen it, plain as day.

"Unhappy? Nah, you must have been blinded by those eyebrows or something! It's a great day to be alive!"

Alfred laughed then, but it was hollow sounding. Arthur didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before. Usually he was more perceptive about this sort of thing. In the end, he chose not to comment on Alfred's lack of manners and opted instead to find a place where he could conceal himself again.

"Ah, in that case, if you'll excuse me…"

"W-Wait! You're going already?" Alfred hurriedly called after him.

Arthur paused and stared curiously over his shoulder where Alfred looked openly anxious. "You said yourself that it's a great day to be alive, didn't you? So there was no need for me to interrupt you."

Alfred's expression went blank again, but he just as quickly replaced it with a smile. "Just as good a reason to spend it with someone else, right?"

Arthur blinked and considered this prospect. He was already breaking a few rules by revealing himself to his charge, but now that he had, he'd merely exacerbate the problem by just as abruptly vanishing now that Alfred knew about him. Alfred didn't know _who_ he was, so it wasn't quite as problematic as it could be, he determined, and if he were to get close to Alfred, he'd be able to help him better. Yes, that was the ticket.

"Would you like to join me for a walk then?" Arthur asked, and Alfred smiled. A real, genuine smile, and it was beautiful to behold.

"I'd like that."


	27. Time Can Do So Much

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty Seven: Time Can Do So Much  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**

* * *

**

A year is a long time.

Alfred kept repeating that over and over to himself as he clutched his carry-on in his clenched fist and waited for the taxi that would take him into the city.

He'd already ran through several scenarios in his mind, all of which followed the same basic formula.

'I'm sorry, Alfred. A year is a long time. I've met someone else…'

He ground his teeth just thinking about Arthur falling in love with someone else after how long it had taken for the two of them to get together. How many months of pursuing Arthur he'd had to endure before he'd finally agreed to go on a date. How many failed dates and fights they'd had before Alfred finally just confessed his love and Arthur grudgingly reciprocated.

It would make sense that Arthur found someone else, though. Their correspondence since Arthur had left to work in England had been several curt, brief emails and equally brief phone calls. Even when Alfred stayed up until odd hours of the morning in the hopes of catching Arthur in a free moment to talk, he'd been brushed off by Arthur, saying he was too busy to talk. No matter the day, no matter the time.

Now, after a year of waiting, Alfred had lost all patience. Arthur had assured him that they'd see each other at Christmas, but it was only September and Alfred couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to see his boyfriend, so he scrounged up what little money he had, applied for a leave of absence from school, and hopped the first flight to London that he could afford.

Now, standing in that airport waiting for his taxi, his anxieties about what he'd find when he met Arthur again were steadily growing in intensity. After all, Arthur was a distinguished gentleman (when he wasn't drunk or dealing with the French, that is), and Alfred was, in Arthur's words, an uncouth and insufferable yank. Maybe he'd met another distinguished lady or gentleman since returning to his country of birth, and had hoped that Alfred would take a hint and leave him alone to carry on his new life without a crazy American boyfriend.

Alfred straightened his back as his taxi finally arrived. Well, Arthur had another thing coming if he thought things were going to end that way. If things were going to end, they were going to end, but he needed to hear it from Arthur himself, face to face.

It occurred to him, as he was taken to his hotel, that he had no idea where to even begin to look, and he couldn't very well ask Arthur if he was supposed to be surprising him with a visit. He'd just have to hope, somehow, that his sincere feelings and need to see Arthur again would lead him in the right direction.

* * *

He'd had a feeling that being American would get him into trouble somehow, although he suspected that it wasn't so much that he was American that he didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. But he'd never heard so many accents before in his life. He thought the English were supposed to speak _English_ and not whatever the hell he kept hearing from various people. He'd also been under the impression that all the English had the same stuffy, posh accent that Arthur did, with the occasional Cockney accent thrown in for good measure. He liked to tease Arthur with that, who assured him time after time that he was even more dreadful than Dick Van Dyke had been in Mary Poppins.

Each time he asked someone if they knew of Arthur Kirkland, he wound up offending them somehow, but he didn't really care. All that mattered was that he found Arthur. It was sort of pathetic how much of a lovesick teenager he was being, but then again he _was_ a lovesick teenager. A lovesick teenager who had seduced a man four years older than himself.

Yet another reason for Arthur to find someone else, Alfred thought in dismay as he sunk onto a park bench. He'd only been seventeen when he decided he wanted Arthur, a twenty one-year-old studying abroad in the States when Alfred had been doing some post-secondary study while still in high school, and he could just picture him resolving that he was indeed too old and mature for Alfred, after all.

Alfred sat with his head in his hands, feeling sorry for himself about the sad state of his love life, when an oh so familiar voice made him snap to attention. He lifted his head and looked around wildly for the source of the voice, those large eyebrows like a warm beacon leading him to his beloved. He stood up and nearly called out to him, but abruptly stopped and clamped his mouth shut.

Arthur was dressed casually, something he didn't do often, and if Alfred wasn't mistaken, he looked somehow _younger._ Less like the uptight "old man" that Alfred had fallen head over heels for. There was a woman on his arm, a pretty blonde with a ribbon tied like a headband around her head, and Arthur was smiling at her, really _smiling._ Arthur hardly ever smiled at him like that.

If that wasn't proof that he'd been abandoned in favor of a more desirable lover, he didn't know what was. Dejected, he wondered if he could somehow sucker his brother into wiring him some money for a flight back home, and maybe it wasn't too late to start the fall term at school, after all.

He stopped again and looked to where Arthur was disappearing into the crowd with the woman on his arm, and he remembered that he'd decided that he wasn't going to be satisfied until he heard that their relationship was over straight from Arthur's mouth. He squared his jaw and took off after the retreating couple.

As he pushed past people and continued to pursue Arthur, he thought of it like something out of the movies. Meeting your lost love again after an unbearable separation, ruthlessly pursuing them through crowds, finally zoning in on them and calling out their name in a somehow booming, echoing voice…

"Arthur!"

It didn't boom or echo or anything dramatic like that, but it was loud enough that Arthur had apparently heard him. He stopped walking and turned around with a furrowed brow, which melted into a look of complete shock when he saw who was calling to him.

"Alfred?" he choked out.

Alfred nodded and took a few tentative steps forward, pausing to leave a safe distance between them. The woman at Arthur's side smiled impishly and leaned closer to whisper something to Arthur, whose face turned a very deep shade of red, then she winked at Alfred and continued walking in the direction she and Arthur had been heading before. Alfred felt a pang of jealousy that she had been so close to Arthur and had made him blush like that, but it was irrelevant now.

"What…what are you doing here?" Arthur asked, his tone somewhere between shocked and angry rather than elated like Alfred wished he would have been.

"I…got tired of waiting." He kicked at the ground below him and shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling sheepish. Desperation like this wasn't heroic or cool, and he'd always fancied the notion that Arthur had fallen for him because he was the dashing hero type who could make anyone swoon. Now he was just a stupid kid who wasn't getting his way and throwing a fit over it.

"Of course you did," Arthur said and Alfred looked up to see him slamming his palm against his head. "You're an impatient brat who only thinks of himself. You didn't even stop to think about what you were doing, did you?"

"Well, can you blame me? You never want to talk when I call, and you never answer my emails with any real information. Now when I come here you have a new girlfriend and probably don't even want me anymore…"

There was a brief silence where Arthur just stared at him, and Alfred looked away again. He didn't want to see the look on Arthur's face when it was confirmed that he'd chosen a new lover and never wanted to see him again.

"You think that she's…" Arthur trailed off, but Alfred still didn't look up. He wished Arthur would just get it over with and put him out of his misery so he could return to the US and carry on with his life, pretending that he wasn't utterly heartbroken.

Instead he felt a hand on the side of his face pushing his head up and then lips were on his own. He blinked in surprise as Arthur kissed him, then quickly melted into it and pulled Arthur flush against him to murmur the things he wanted to say between kisses.

"God, I've missed kissing you… Missed waking up next to you… Missed your godawful cooking… Missed _you_…"

"Shut up, you daft fool," Arthur hissed and pulled Alfred even closer. "Don't ruin this moment like you do everything else."

Alfred broke the kiss at that and Arthur scowled impatiently at him. Alfred grinned winningly and bent Arthur backwards like in that famous V-J day picture and kissed him thoroughly. Arthur flailed and struggled for a moment, then he clung to Alfred for dear life and kissed back. All comments from passersby were ignored.

When Alfred set him back upright, Arthur looked dazed for a moment before he scowled again and folded his arms stubbornly.

"You're still a dreadful kisser," he said, though his cheeks were slightly pink. Alfred laughed and pulled one of Arthur's hands to clasp in his own.

"I missed you, too, Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he was smiling just a little bit, which made Alfred's heart soar. A year is a long time, indeed, but it seemed in this case that he'd had absolutely nothing to worry about.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I never said anything about it being just _first_ meetings, now did I? *dodges tomatoes***


	28. Hello, I Love You

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty Eight: Hello, I Love You  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: This story has fem!America, as well as gratuitous use of music by the Doors.  
**

**

* * *

**

When your closest colleague (because Arthur refused to refer to him as a friend) was Francis Bonnefoy, casual conversation was anything but casual. Most often it entailed his latest sexual exploits, most of which Arthur suspected were just delusions of grandeur the Frenchman thought up to make himself seem more experienced than he really was. If they weren't discussing their sex life (or lack thereof as was the unfortunate case with Arthur), they were either fighting or challenging each other in various ways to make the other look bad.

"I have a proposition for you, my friend," Francis said as they walked to work that morning. By friend he meant dearest enemy, and by proposition he meant challenge. Arthur stiffened as he waited for the latest way he could make that pathetic frog look foolish again.

"There is a young woman who passes this way every morning, I would like for you to introduce yourself to her."

"And what is wrong with this woman that you believe I should introduce myself?"

Francis wagged his finger in response to the impatient look Arthur was giving him. "There is nothing wrong with her. She is quite the lovely example of the fine feminine form. Long legs, ample breasts, American-"

"I've heard enough. I do not waste my time with Americans, you know."

"Ah, but this woman is a special case, you see. Although most ladies throw themselves at me, I have yet to successfully introduce myself to this young woman," Francis clarified, knowing that his failure to introduce himself would pique Arthur's interest.

He was right in that regard, as Arthur paused, parsing Francis's words, before he turned to his colleague with feigned indifference. "Go on."

"You should not judge until you have seen her, anyway… Oh, here she comes now!"

Arthur turned his attention to where Francis was looking to see a woman coming around the corner. He had to admit that she really was quite the striking woman. Her slightly mussed blonde hair curled around her chin, her blouse wasn't buttoned up all the way, leaving nothing to the imagination, and although her skirt went to her knees, she did indeed have very long legs. He supposed she was attractive for an American.

"What is the wager?" he asked with sudden vigor, and Francis beamed.

"You must learn her name. Ah, but don't get so cocky!" Francis interrupted as Arthur was about to take off after the now retreating back of the American woman. "You cannot simply _ask_ for her name. You must find a more creative way of introducing yourself before the end of the week. Should you succeed, I will do any one thing you ask of me. Should you fail, then you will have to do the same for me."

Arthur looked after the woman as she turned around another corner and then looked back at Francis's ugly smirking face. Even if he couldn't just outright introduce himself, it would still be a simple task. He smirked as well and continued on his way to work.

"You have yourself a wager, Bonnefoy. I'll start tomorrow."

"To arms then, my friend," Francis agreed, and Arthur didn't catch the self satisfied smirk on his face.

* * *

Tuesday morning he arrived at the spot armed with his guitar. It had been quite a few years since he'd played in a band, but the instrument still produced the sound it had in its heyday. He'd spent the previous night tuning it and testing out his portable amplifier until he was satisfied with the sound produced from both.

Francis raised an eyebrow at him as he plugged the guitar into the amp and strummed a few chords.

"A guitar?"

"You never said I couldn't ask for her name in song, now did you? If she's American, all I need is my accent and guitar and she'll be throwing herself at me," Arthur said calmly as he continued sedately plucking at the guitar strings.

"We shall see, won't we? Oh, here she comes!" Francis said and disappeared into the shadows of another building.

Arthur straightened up as the woman approached, though she was staring off into the street away from him. Since she was American, he chose a song written by an American, believing that to be the best way to get through to her if she was as resilient as Francis made her out to be. Once she was within earshot, he settled his fingers on the strings and held up the pick, then began to play.

"Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name?" he sang, embellishing every note for good measure, and was not perturbed when she didn't look at him. "Hello, I love you, let me jump in your game."

Still she didn't pay any attention to him, though he was catching the interest of several other women and men, who paused in their walking to watch him as he played and sang after the American woman.

"She's walking down the street, blind to every eye she meets. Do you think you'll be the guy to make the queen of the angels sigh?"

She was rounding the corner again, and Arthur lamented his lack of a long chord with which to pursue her with. He tried one last ditch effort at singing after her as her head disappeared.

"Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name?"

But she was gone, and he hadn't succeeded. Some of the women whose attentions he'd caught swooned and threw out names, but he apologized to them and excused himself to where Francis was clutching at his stomach in laughter.

"Belt up, tosser. Tomorrow is another day," he grumbled and tossed his guitar into its bag and threw it over his shoulder. Tomorrow was another day indeed.

* * *

Wednesday he decided to continue down the same path he'd started the day before. She was bound to be interested in the man who was back with his guitar again, after all.

Once again he began to play as soon as she was in earshot, and once again she didn't even look at him. Francis would likely tell him he'd lost the wager if he called out to her to listen, so he just ground his teeth before he began to sing.

"You know that it would be untrue, you know that I would be a liar, if I was to say to you, girl we couldn't get much higher. Come on, baby, light my fire. Come on, baby, light my fire. Try to set the night on fire!"

She finally glanced over at him, but her expression didn't change at all as she kept walking. Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. He stopped playing in frustration and pushed his way past the swooning women who had returned from the day before. He didn't even bother with humoring Francis's laughter with a response as he merely packed up his things and stalked away.

* * *

Thursday he was getting a bit desperate, but he was not at all deterred. He knew his guitar playing skills and singing were top notch, and she was merely a daft American girl who didn't appreciate real music when she heard it, that was all.

Francis's smile was downright gleeful as he hid in the shadows of a building again and waited for Arthur's next performance to fail spectacularly. Arthur glared daggers at him as he waited for the girl to come around the corner again. When she appeared, Francis's disgusting smile seemed to brighten tenfold and he shoved his fist in his mouth before any laughter could escape.

Arthur grumbled as he adjusted his guitar and began to play once more.

"Love me two times, baby. Love me twice today. Love me two times, girl. I'm going away."

In a way it was true. If she didn't wise up and introduce herself, he really might be going away. After all, who knows what sort of horrible things Francis might think as payment for their wager. Things that existed only in his darkest nightmares. Things that were worth moving to another country and changing your name over.

But she merely walked on, that same vacant look on her face as she stared out at the street. Arthur played and sang a little louder in desperation.

"Love me two times, girl. One for tomorrow, one just for today. Love me two times. I'm going away!"

Instead she vanished and he swore colorfully as he tore the guitar off himself. The women were back again, begging for his name so they could start a fan club, but he managed to politely excuse himself without saying anything offensive. He was tired of making an ass of himself for nothing. Especially since it gave Francis excuses to laugh at him, which was simply not acceptable.

"People are strange when you're a stranger… Faces look ugly when you're alone," he sang as he approached Francis. He pressed his open palm into the Frenchman's cackling face and pushed hard.

He had one more day, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste.

* * *

Friday was an uncharacteristically beautiful day, which renewed Arthur's confidence. He had one more chance, and he was going to succeed this time. He wanted very much an excuse to tell Francis that he had to publicly humiliate himself just as he was doing, or maybe to tell their colleagues that he wasn't the sex god he made himself out to be, or several other things he gleefully thought of as his payment for winning the wager.

All that was left was to learn that foolish girl's name. He had one more song. One more chance. He was going to put his all into it, so she couldn't help but be won over by his charms and want to introduce herself.

He was so busy glaring at Francis that he didn't notice when she appeared until she was right in front of him. He hurriedly adjusted his fingers and the guitar pick, but before he could begin to play, she interrupted him.

"Come on come on come on come on now touch me, baby! Can't you see that I am not afraid? What was that promise that you made?" she sang, loudly and with great energy as she suddenly danced in front of him.

Arthur froze and stared at her in shock. In the shadows of the nearby building, Francis too was gaping.

"Isn't that the song that comes next?" she asked with a pout when Arthur didn't say anything or make any other moves.

That was indeed the song he'd been planning to play next, but he was too shocked by the fact that she had apparently been paying attention to him all week to form any semblance of an intelligent reply.

"Oh, come on! I've been waiting all week for that and you're not even going to sing it?" she whined and stamped her foot. "I'm gonna love you till the heavens stop the rain- See? Just like that! Come on!"

Arthur continued to gape at her in shock and he moved his mouth up and down soundlessly, trying to find words to convey how completely ridiculous she was and why didn't she acknowledge him from the get go instead of forcing him to make a complete fool of himself for her sake.

"Aren't you even going to ask my name after all that?"

Arthur looked quickly over to Francis, who shook his head with a smile, confirming that he couldn't ask her for her name, even though she had offered. But the smile slipped off his face when she spoke again. Arthur snapped his attention back to the seething blonde woman in front of him.

"Well, I'm going to tell you anyway! I'm Annie Jones, and if you're going to sing the Doors to impress me, you have to start with 'Touch Me', got it?"

Arthur grinned and although he didn't look at Francis, he knew the Frenchman's face was wonderfully full of dismay that he had lost yet another challenge. The fact that he'd wasted a week making a fool of himself was suddenly moot, and he smiled his best gentleman's smile at Annie as he pulled his guitar strap over his head.

"Arthur Kirkland, Miss Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you," he said and extended his hand towards her.

She looked at the hand, then pulled it into hers and marched determinedly down the street, ignoring the startled squawk from Arthur as he stumbled over himself trying to follow her.

"Call me Annie, Mr. Eyebrows! Aren't you lucky that you get to buy an amazing person like myself a cup of coffee? Then we can discuss the proper way to perform the Doors's music!"

Arthur blinked at her for a moment, then he looked over his shoulder to where Francis was in near tears and biting at his handkerchief. He wouldn't even remark on how she'd called him "eyebrows" instead of Arthur or Mr. Kirkland or something equally appropriate, or that she wanted coffee instead of tea. It was really far too fine a day to complain about little details like that. He simply smiled at her, earning a very pretty smile in response, and supposed he could handle an American's company for just this one time.


	29. Easy Come, Easy Go

**30 Meetings**

**Story Twenty Nine: Easy Come, Easy Go  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

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Arthur Kirkland had had enough. Reports of graffiti marring the walls of their distinguished school continued to roll in and there had yet to be anything done about it.

"We'll get to the bottom of this" and "we'll catch the perpetrator, don't worry" he'd been promised time after time, and yet each morning there was a new tag where old ones had been painted over. Aesthetically pleasing though some of them may have been, it was still graffiti, and it was still a challenge against his authority as the student body president.

In the end, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself, after all.

After careful observation of the tagger's habits over several days, Arthur was certain he'd figured out a pattern and knew where the rebellious prat would strike next. After he was finished with his presidential duties for the day, he packed up the remains of his curry lunch in case he'd need a meal and locked the student council room behind him. He was going to catch the perpetrator himself and put the bastard in his (or her) place.

There was an expanse of wall along the outer perimeter of the school's campus that had yet to be vandalized, and it was a short distance away from this wall that was obscured by a line of shrubbery where Arthur made himself comfortable. He was never wrong in his deductions, and he was confident that he'd meet the elusive graffiti artist who had the nerve to challenge him. He set his schoolwork to the side and pulled out some paperwork about upcoming events that needed student council approval. It was another thing he had to take care of himself, since he knew he couldn't trust Angelique to finish at an adequate speed.

As night fell and his paperwork was finished along with his curry eaten, Arthur began to wonder if he'd actually made a mistake. It was a completely ridiculous notion, but stranger things had happened in the world. It was getting cold and he'd have to get some sleep sooner or later, so it was with a great deal of grumbling and muttered curses that Arthur started to gather his things and call it a night. He'd look over his calculations in the student council room later.

It was as he stood to leave that someone finally appeared, although at first glance Arthur was certain he'd just seen a student who had snuck off campus and was returning under the veil of night. It was a blond boy wearing the school's uniform, though he also had on a brown jacket on top of that. His cheek was bandaged and his glasses were lopsided on his face, but he looked unassuming enough. Harmless. Regardless, Arthur stayed to watch and possibly chastise the student for breaking a different set of rules.

But then the boy stopped in front of the wall Arthur had been watching and looked around for a moment before he pulled an aerosol can out of his jacket. Arthur's jaw dropped as he watched the boy start to spray the can's paint over the wall in easy, practiced movements. For a moment all he could do was gawk until he finally came to himself and marched over with his head held high and his hands on his hips.

"You there! Stop this instant!"

The boy stopped instantly as demanded and whipped around to see who had addressed him. When his eyes fell on Arthur, he just scowled and went back to spraying the paint.

"Aw, you ain't the fuzz. Just that prissy president asshole," he muttered, disappointed. American, of course. Arthur's face burned in indignation and he moved closer so he could try to grab the can out of the boy's hands.

"I believe I told you to stop!" His firm shouting was reduced to squawking instead as the can he'd been trying to grab was pulled forcefully out of his grasp and he nearly fell over.

"Shoulda known you'd be even more of an asshole up close," the boy scoffed and adjusted his jacket which had been rumpled in the scuffle.

Arthur stood up and willed himself not to lose his temper, not yet. He was a gentleman, and so he'd handle this situation with grace and dignity. He smoothed out his own blazer and lifted his chin. If nothing else he'd be the more mature person.

"Might I ask _why_ you are vandalizing school property?" he asked calmly.

The boy snorted and produced another can of paint of a different color from his jacket. "I ain't never did nothing but be a hero, but my damn folks didn't see it that way. Just all that 'boarding school might set him straight' bullshit and 'why can't he be more like his brother? _He_ would never do that!' Maybe if they actually _paid attention_ they'd notice all the shit Matt pulls. He ain't perfect either."

Arthur tried not to cringe at the boy's abysmal grammar and focus instead on whatever he had just babbled about. Something about his family or brother. He'd like to introduce the boy to _his_ family if he thought he had it tough with his.

"Your familial problems are no reason to mar these walls with your so-called 'art'. Kindly stop or I'll contact the authorities."

"Whatever, man. I might die tomorrow anyway, right? Might as well live it up in _some _way now while I got the chance. Sex and drugs are slim pickings here with all you bastards with sticks so far up your asses it's a wonder you can even walk."

Arthur twitched, but once again willed himself not to lose his temper. He would not lose face in front of this prat, absolutely not. It was probably what he wanted, and he would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he'd broken the president's will of steel.

"Your name, please. Since you refuse to cooperate, I'll be taking my leave to contact the authorities, after all."

"Ooh, scary," the boy said and held up his hands in mock fear. He _did_ lower the paint cans, leaving a partially painted picture of what looked like a hamburger on the wall. The cans disappeared back into his jacket and he turned to smirk at Arthur. "Name's Alfred Jones, underdog hero extraordinaire. You don't need to tell me your name. I already know you're president douchebag Arthur Kirkland."

That was enough to finally make Arthur snap. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he started gesticulating wildly at Alfred.

"You are an unbelievably insufferable wanker of a person, Mr. Jones, do you know that? If you cross me again, I swear I will make your life a living hell and you'll be _begging_ me for mercy," he snapped.

Alfred's smirk just widened and he shrugged as he turned towards the dormitories. "I look forward to your demise then, Mr. President. I ain't backing down from a challenge."

Arthur should have called the police, should have stopped Alfred right there and then and ended everything easily, but that wouldn't be satisfying. No, not satisfying at all.

Arthur went to retrieve his things and headed back towards the building that housed the student council room instead of returning to his dormitory. It would be breaking rules, but he'd find a way to gain access to Alfred's personal files. He was going to make Alfred _crawl_ and rue the day he ever crossed Arthur Kirkland.

* * *

**A/N: I decided that since I've spent so much time writing delinquent!England, I'd try the reverse.**

**Of course, I had to give them different motivations to shake it up a bit. In my AU, Arthur is a delinquent because his life sucks and he's lashing out at the world as result. Alfred is a delinquent because he's just being rebellious. :V So this wouldn't end up being an emotionally turbulent love story, but a battle of sarcasm that would probably result in angry sex, heh.**

**So anyway, not going to continue this one, since I don't need to get invested in _another_ delinquent!AU, but I thought it might be fun to try something different. :)**

**Only one more story to go! \o/**


	30. Time After Time

**30 Meetings**

**Story Thirty: Time After Time  
**

**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: ****I had about thirty ideas in addition to the ones I already posted as stories, so I picked five of them and wrote short drabbles. So this is a little different in that it's five stories in one. Going out with a bang or something.**

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**1. 'Bout The Town**

The streets were his sanctuary. A place where he ruled, and no one who valued their property (or sometimes even their wellbeing) dared challenge his authority.

His name was Arthur, but no one knew that. They only knew him as "England" and that name was enough to elicit the sort of terrified reactions he'd come to expect. Then there was the rest of his ragtag group consisting of France, Belgium, Prussia, and their recently acquired members Russia, Belarus and Ukraine. They'd been foolish enough to challenge England's gang and had failed miserably, the tags displayed on the back of their coats proof of that.

They were a gang of rollerbladers who left their mark in colorful graffiti around town. Sometimes fools like Russia would try to cover his art with their own marks, but they were always put in their place. Those streets were England's, and he didn't share.

So that morning, as England stood on top of the building that housed their headquarters, his eyes immediately zoning in on one of Belgium's tags covered in some horrible banner of stars and stripes. His proud smirk faded into a murderous glare as he removed his headphones and skated to the edge of the building where they'd set up a pipe wide enough to grind on down to the streets below.

He'd alert France and the others later. For now he wanted to investigate the latest arrogant upstart who thought he could take over England's territory. He replaced his headphones on his ears and jumped onto the pipe, easily grinding down to the streets and skating over to the wall that was previously covered in Belgium's work. Upon closer inspection, he saw a sloppily spray painted name underneath the ridiculous red, white and blue mess. America.

"Think you can stop me?" a voice called, and England whipped around to see another teenager in rollerblades perched on the awning of a nearby restaurant with his arms folded. He was wearing goggles and his shirt had the same ridiculous insignia that was marring the wall in front of England. The teen smirked and jumped from his perch, then he skated over to one of France's marks and quickly sprayed another array of stripes before he beckoned to England, whose nostrils were flaring in his fury.

"Tag, you're it!"

Then the chase was on.

* * *

**2. The End**

The sky is on fire, a reflection of the ground below it. The noise around him is deafening with the screaming of survivors and the whistling of bombs, but it's all irrelevant now. He's going to die, and nothing else matters anymore.

Beside him, out of his line of sight, is the boy he'd met only hours ago. Alfred, he said his name is. A person who shoved him up against the train window in the subway in an attempt to squeeze on during rush hour is the same person who kept him alive when the bombs first hit, but, despite a daring escape for several hours, in the end they weren't fast enough. Now he's dying and Alfred is dying, and Alfred's breathing is shallow and his fingers cling desperately to his own. Terrified of death, not wanting to be alone in the end.

"Hey….hey, what's your name anyway..?" Alfred chokes out, and Arthur doesn't want to talk. Everything hurts, except his legs, which he can't feel anymore. Maybe they're gone. He can't lift his head to check.

"Arthur," he responds, just loud enough for Alfred to hear.

"Arthur, ha…don't…fall asleep before me, all right?"

Arthur can hear the true meaning of his words loud and clear, and he uses what strength he can muster to squeeze the fingers in his grasp. He won't go until Alfred does. He stares up at the blazing sky, waiting for the pain to go away, waiting for Alfred's pain to end. Alfred's voice finally breaks the deafening noise around them.

"Say...do you think we would have been good together..?"

Arthur can't respond before the fingers that had a fierce grip on his go limp. He doesn't need to turn his head-he can't find the strength to do so anyway-to know that Alfred is gone. Gone beyond where he can be reached ever again.

"...yes, we would have been very good together," he calls quietly to ears that won't hear him. He releases the fingers once clutching his own and closes his eyes. The end will come soon for him, too.

* * *

**3. Helter Skelter**

Twenty one hundred hours.

He's waiting at the designated spot for Bonnefoy's man to show up. Bonnefoy, Carriedo's only ally and the only one who was willing to send out one of his men to watch the rookie.

Rookie. Alfred scoffs at the word. He's a better shot than any of them, but they think he's too soft. He should have been a police officer instead, they say. But instead he's working as Antonio Fernandez Carriedo's hitman. The underling of an underling. It's Vargas who is at the top. The younger one, though he's never actually met him. The point is he's supposed to do the underhanded assassination work without leaving a trail that might dirty someone's hands.

But he's a rookie, and someone needs to look out for him. So there he is waiting for the one Bonnefoy is sending. He checks his watch and then checks it again and lets out an impatient huff. Maybe they'd just been messing with him, and he's really not on an assignment at all, and he lets out a colorful word that would make his dear old granny faint as he prepares to go back.

He doesn't get very far before a gun is pressed against the back of his head and a menacing voice hisses, "embrace the très bien moi."

Alfred groans. God, that's such a stupid secret phrase, made even more ridiculous by how serious the man saying it sounds.

"Oh, come on. Do I really need to say it?" Alfred whines and tries to turn to look at the man behind him. The gun digs even further into his skull and Alfred stops.

"_Embrace the très bien moi_," he repeats emphatically.

"All right, all right…Paris is indeed splendid, happy?"

"Hmm."

The gun is pulled away and the one holding it appears. Some scrawny blond with enormous eyebrows set in what is probably a permanent scowl. They're totally just messing with him.

"What kind of hitman are you? Giving me the opportunity to escape like that?" Alfred asks skeptically.

"You wouldn't have gotten away," he replies so confidently that Alfred has to smile. Maybe this won't be so bad, after all.

"Name's Alfred Jones, by the way!" he says brightly and the man raises one of his impressive eyebrows at him in disbelief.

"There's your first mistake, rookie. Don't give out your name."

"Well, we gotta call each other something, right? I think I'll call you Eyebrows."

He smirks as the man twitches in anger and then yelps as the man grasps his collar in both hands and pulls him down.

"Call me that again and I'll have to report that you were _unfortunately_ knocked off," he hisses and then adjusts the tie on his neat suit, suddenly looking the perfect gentleman. "At any rate, my name is Arthur."

Alfred beams. "So Artie, what's our assignment?"

Arthur turns and glares at Alfred over the nickname, but he doesn't lash out this time. "An enemy of Mr. Vargas, that's all you need to know."

Alfred clicks his tongue as the blond turns to leave, but he follows dutifully anyway. It's going to be a long night.

* * *

**4. The Road**

If he kept walking, he wondered how far the road would take him.

His brother said he'd be back in a few hours when he got hungry and wanted a burger, but Alfred had merely scoffed and packed what few belongings he'd need and left with only a few hundred dollars to his name.

If he kept walking, maybe the road would take him to his purpose in life.

He was determined to make it work out, and work out it did. Food was easy enough to find, and sleeping under bridges, while disgusting, wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. Although he was oftentimes filthy, his charming smile and dashing good looks won him the sympathy of many people, who offered the use of their bathrooms where he could clean himself up enough that he could take odd jobs for the locals.

One time he was walking outside a McDonald's when he was stopped by a man in a smart suit who offered to buy him a meal. Thinking nothing of it, Alfred agreed. The man bought him a burger and it was only as he sat down to eat that he realized that his benefactor was a born again Christian who spoke of how he'd found his salvation through Christ and how Alfred could do the same. Alfred politely excused himself, claiming that he was merely a student on a search to find himself, and he'd do that on his own.

It was when he took up a job washing glasses at a pub that he met him. Arthur Kirkland. A man from England whose work visa was expiring soon. He wasn't really all that attractive, and his personality left much to be desired, especially when he was drunk, but Alfred found him interesting anyway. Talk lead to flirting, flirting lead to sloppy kisses, sloppy kisses lead to tangled, stained sheets. That is until the day Arthur stopped in for the last time, declaring that his visa was really going to expire, and he'd be returning to England the following day. Alfred was brokenhearted, and they parted on harsh terms.

His experiences continued to be rewarding with the people he met and the work he did. He had enough money to return home and pursue the school he'd abandoned, but something else was calling him now.

When he reached the east coast, he visited the country's capital, and New York City, where he visited Lady Liberty and wondered if she wouldn't mind if he left for a little while. The road had taken him to its end, but his journey didn't stop there. He'd hop a boat and sail across the ocean, where another road awaited.

If he kept walking, maybe the road would take him to Arthur.

* * *

**5. You've Really Got a Hold On Me**

Arthur first ran across him when he was eighteen and on holiday in the United States. He was some school age brat who called his eyebrows disgusting and made fun of his accent. In return Arthur called him the most insufferable person he'd ever had the displeasure of meeting. Worse yet, the brat insisted on harassing him the entire time he was in the boy's town.

He'd never been so happy to return to England than he was when he hopped a plane that took him away from his tormenter.

The next time they crossed paths was a couple years later on Arthur's own university campus. Apparently the prat was doing some studying abroad, much to Arthur's horror. Whenever they met, they exchanged obscenities and maybe some flying fists now and then.

Then came his trip to France to visit a colleague in his hometown. Although they ultimately disliked each other, they were able to get along when necessary. Francis was throwing a party for his closest friends and associates, and Arthur was among the guests, but he wasn't the only one. Francis was about to introduce him to that annoying American, when Arthur stopped him.

"His is a face I find even more infuriating than yours, and that is saying something."

"That _is_ saying something," Francis confirmed with an impressed look on his face, and they left it at that.

No matter where Arthur went, no matter the time of year, they continued to cross paths. They continued to hate each other. For years it went on, a cycle of accidental meetings and brazen words, until Arthur found himself back in America, on a nondescript street in some state he didn't care about. As was almost expected by that point, Arthur ran into his American annoyance once again. Their eyes met, then they quickly looked away from each other.

That time, though, Arthur paused as they walked past each other, then he turned around and called to the retreating back of the American.

"Oi, what's your name anyway?"

The man paused and Arthur was certain he'd just keep walking. Instead he pulled the buds out of his ears and turned around.

"Alfred," he said flatly and shoved his hands in his pockets. He nodded at Arthur. "Yours?"

"Arthur," he replied. _Nice to meet you_, he added in his head as an afterthought, though he deemed it pointless to say it out loud. After all, it wasn't _really _nice to meet him, was it?

Alfred nodded and one corner of his mouth quirked up in an almost smile as he stuck the buds back in his ears, then he kept walking in the same direction he'd originally been heading. Arthur's own mouth twitched, but he fought it off, then he kept walking as well.

It had only taken ten years, but they finally knew each others' names.

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**A/N: If you've read all 30 of these stories, thanks for sticking it out! As far as continuations go, I'll probably write a couple, but please don't harass me about it. orz**


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